Ghosts
by QuietRaine
Summary: Post Terra Prime, Trip Tucker must face the ghosts of all he has endured during his four years on the Enterprise. And an unexpected event pulls the crew into a tragic mystery. OC.
1. Prologue

_**Disclaimer:**__ I do not own Star Trek or its characters. I am making no money off of this._

_**Spoilers:**__ Through Terra Prime_

_**Author's Note:**__ Shortly after finishing the Enterprise series, I said to my husband that it felt like the writers had a wheel in their office that they spun once a week. The wheel was called "Ways to Torture Trip Tucker." After four years of going through the wringer time after time, it occurred to me that after a time it would all catch up with him. This is my version of Trip coming to terms with everything he's been through – with a bit of adventure and drama thrown in._

_Also, this is not a romance fic. There may be romance in a sequel, but if it happens I really am not sure who would end up with who. I am as much along for the ride as you are. _

**Prologue**

"At ease, Captain."

Jonathan Archer relaxed as he gazed into the grizzled face of Admiral Gardner, seated comfortably at his desk in Starfleet Command. The toll the last few weeks had taken on the _Enterprise_'s commanding officer was evident on his handsome face – his brow was furrowed, his shoulders held a slump that hadn't been there before. Archer looked a bit haggard, tired even. He was uncomfortable in the presence of Gardner, with whom he had an uneasy history at best.

He wasn't entirely sure why his presence had been requested – ordered – today. He and his crew had been debriefed. _Enterprise_ was finishing necessary repairs and upgrades, and then they would be released back into the cold comfort of space. All of them – Tucker and T'Pol especially – were anxious to put the events of the last few weeks and the pain they had suffered at the hands of Terra Prime behind them.

"I suppose you're wondering why I've called you here, Archer," Gardner began.

"The thought had crossed my mind," Jonathan replied, caution in his tone.

"I know that you're anxious to return to preparations for your ship's upcoming departure, so I'll keep this brief," Gardner replied. "I have a sort of…favor to ask of you."

Jonathan tilted his head and squinted at the admiral, a glimmer of suspicion in his green eyes. "What kind of favor?"

Gardner stood and moved from behind his desk to lean against the front of it, arms folded over his chest. "Starfleet would like to implement an experimental program," he explained. "A test-run so we can see if this would be feasible on other ships in the fleet. When discussing a ship to launch this program from…" He paused. "Given everything that has happened on _Enterprise_ in the last few months, it was suggested your crew might benefit most from it."

Jonathan narrowed his eyes. "What is the program, Admiral?" he asked, wary.

The admiral took a deep breath. "We would like to see how well a ship's counselor would benefit a crew," he said.

The captain's response was an undignified snort. "With all due respect, sir," he snapped. "I can't imagine most of my crew discussing their deep, dark fears with a _counselor_."

"We're aware that the program could be a phenomenal failure," Gardner replied. "But there are those among Starfleet who feel it is at least worth exploring."

A deep sigh escaped Jonathan's lips. "And if I say no," he asked, "does this request for a favor become an order?"

A ghost of humor flitted through Gardner's eyes. "What do you think, Captain?"

He paused a moment, considering the cards he held in his hand and what he could play against Gardner's. A slow grin spread over the captain's face. "I'd like to make a counter-proposal, sir."

Gardner lifted a brow. "Go ahead."

"I'll agree to test the program on my ship," Jonathan agreed. "But I choose the counselor. It's only fair," he hurried, before Gardner could protest. "I was permitted to choose the rest of my command crew. I should be allowed to choose my ship's counselor."

The admiral studied him. "We had someone in mind, but in this instance…" He appeared to mull it over. "Fine," he finally responded. "My stipulation is that you must choose from Starfleet-affiliated psychologists or psychiatrists. We don't have time to brief and train someone else before _Enterprise _departs."

"Understood," Jonathan said. "I'll have a candidate for you by day's end."

"Don't make me regret this, Archer," Gardner said, frowning at the captain. "Dismissed."

* * *

><p>It was nearly two hours later before Jonathan had gathered the courage to make his way to the psychology department of Starfleet command. Standing before the door, he very nearly lost his nerve. Finally, he took a deep breath and pushed the doorbell, part of him hoping no one was in the office.<p>

"Come in," a distracted voice called from within.

The sight that greeted him was so familiar it brought a grin to his face. She stood behind her desk, bent over it as she moved at a frenzied speed from book to book, searching for something. Annoyed, she blew a tendril of honey blonde hair out of her face and tucked it behind her ear as she selected a volume and flipped through it, muttering to herself. "Maybe Narcissistic personality disorder…" she murmured.

"Which Starfleet captain are you studying today?" Jonathan asked, leaning against the doorway.

Her gaze snapped up from her book and her dark eyes widened briefly before a wide grin lit up her face. "Jonathan Archer," she said, a hint of a drawl betraying her southern roots. "I figured you were halfway across the galaxy somewhere." Dropping the book on the desk, the woman moved from behind it and launched herself at him, drawing the captain into a warm hug.

"Dr. Callista Agroterra," he replied, returning the friendly embrace. "Has a nice ring to it."

"Still just Callie to you," she shot back, smirking up at him. "At least it'd better be." She turned and gestured towards a sofa. Her office was cheerfully decorated despite the cold, impersonal feel of the Starfleet facility. "Come on in and have a seat."

They their way to the couch sat on it, facing one another. "Thanks," Jonathan replied. He looked her over, taking in her cool, crisp, professional attire and appearance. "You look good," he said. Jonathan felt a strange mix of awkwardness and comfort sitting in her office. A few years before, he and Callie had dated for only a few months before they both realized all there was between them was a close friendship. Even though years had passed, they still remained friends and he still enjoyed her company. And it was out of that friendship he was there, seated on her couch today.

He could only hope she would be willing to hear him out.

"You… look tired," she replied honestly. Her expression grew serious. "I know that things got a little dicey for _Enterprise_ before the alliance was formed. But it's signed and sealed. That has to be a feather in your cap."

"It is," he admitted. "But I'm not sure it was worth the price."

Callie arched a brow, but something in his expression held her back from asking the questions dancing on the tip of her tongue. Instead, she stood and moved to make them both a cup of coffee. "So what do I owe the pleasure of a visit from Jonathan Archer?" she asked. "Not that I'm complaining." Over her shoulder, she tossed him a teasing look. "A visit from you is always a treat."

Jonathan fought a grin. "I have a favor to ask, Callie."

She grew quiet as she stirred sugar and cream into her cup. "You want to ask me to be the counselor on the _Enterprise_," she responded, her tone unreadable.

He looked surprised. "How do you know about that?"

Callie handed him a cup and retook her seat across from him. "Do you really think Starfleet would hand down something that big and not talk to us about it?" she asked. "There are only four counselors in Starfleet right now. I figured I had a twenty-five percent chance of it being me." She took a languid sip of the hot coffee, savoring the smoky taste on her tongue. As she swallowed, the smirk returned to her lips. "Wouldn't it be a bit inappropriate for me to be serving as your counselor? I have a little more personal knowledge of you than any of the other three would."

Jonathan blushed. "Actually, that personal knowledge is one of the reasons that I want you," he replied. The faint smile on his lips faded, and he gazed at her earnestly. "Callie, I need someone who knows me well enough to trust me, and not be a yes-man for Gardner. If Starfleet is going to require that I have a ship's counselor, then fine. I'll have a counselor. But just like my command crew, I want one that I know I can trust. That's you."

"That's fair," she replied, mulling it over. She eyed him over the rim of her cup. "What else?"

"What do you mean, 'what else'?" he asked, glancing away as he took a sip from his own mug.

"Jonathan, we've known each other for years," she replied dryly. "I do know you well enough to know that you're hiding something. Now spill it."

He took a long sip of the coffee and then a deep breath to steel his nerves. His gaze met hers and he spoke hesitantly. "When Paxton made that speech to the world," he began. "You recall that he showed us all a half-human, half-Vulcan infant."

Callie nodded. "You'd have to have been living in a cave to miss it," she replied, sipping her coffee.

"… That baby…" Jonathan hesitated. "She was a genetically created baby created from the DNA of two of my crew members. My first officer, a Vulcan named T'Pol." He paused, not meeting her gaze. "And Trip Tucker."

Callie gazed at Jonathan for several long moments, the silence between them deafening. "Trip's child?" she asked, her voice soft. "What happened to her?"

Jonathan looked away.

Callie closed her eyes and exhaled slowly. "How is he?"

"He's…" He started to gloss it over and say Trip was holding it together remarkably well and moving forward. His loyalty to his friend almost demanded it. But Callie knew them both better than that. If she were to agree to his request, she deserved to know what she was getting into. "He's barely holding it together, Callie," he admitted. Jonathan sighed and leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. "It was never a question in his mind that she was his child. It didn't matter how she came to be. All that mattered was she was half him."

Jonathan stood and began pacing her office. "He and T'Pol just returned from Vulcan, where they held a memorial service for her. He's trying so hard, but…"

"What about T'Pol?" Callie asked as she set her mug on a table in front of her.

"She's a Vulcan," he said, as if that alone explained it. "T'Pol… I know that she's hurting. But she's better equipped to deal with her emotions. She'll meditate and repress the emotions, and pull herself through it. I can't see her letting anyone, least of all you – no offense –"

"None taken."

"-Help her. It's not her way. But Trip…"

Callie chuckled humorlessly. "You think that Trip Tucker will let someone help him deal with his emotions?"

Jonathan shrugged, helplessness painted on his face. "He had barely come to terms with his sister's death when this happened," he continued. "Trip has always been volatile. Impulsive. Unpredictable. Emotional is his middle name." He sighed. "He's not our Trip," he said. "And he's pushing everyone away, burying himself in work."

She sighed heavily and stood, walking to a window and gazing out over San Francisco as she wrapped her arms around herself. "So you want me to come in and pull him through it," she said, flatly.

"I need someone that I can trust on my ship," Jonathan replied. "Trip needs someone that he can trust enough to let in. You fit both of those shoes, Callie."

She refused to turn and meet his gaze. "You don't know what you're asking of me, Jonathan," she finally said wearily.

"Yes, I do," he replied.

Callie shook her head and turned to him. "No, you don't," she replied. "You're asking me to put my entire career in jeopardy. To work with you is very unethical. To work with Trip? I can't begin to tell you how many professional lines that would cross. If Starfleet ever found out just how closely I've been associated with the both of you, that would be the end of my career. So you're asking me to put my career at stake for you and for Trip."

Jonathan flinched. "Callie-"

"I'm not finished," she interrupted. "If you're going to ask this of me, Jonathan, then you're going to do so with the full understanding of just, exactly, what you're asking." She gazed at him for a moment, her jaw working as she clenched it tightly. "Those are just the professional risks," she continued, her voice softer. "Personally? You're asking me to risk my friendship with you. If this goes catastrophically south, then it's going to come back on you and me. It could destroy our careers."

Again he made an attempt to interrupt her, but she silenced him with a hand. "Almost finished," she said. "So just sit tight." She closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. "You want me to pull Trip through this," she went on slowly, "knowing that if anyone tries to get him to address his feelings then he's going to balk and probably get nasty with them. So, beyond all that I've already mentioned, you're asking me to risk a friendship that I've had since I was in _kindergarten_." Having finally summarized her case, Callie fell silent and stared at Jonathan with a challenging gaze.

Jonathan sighed and paced the office, idly picking up a small stress ball from her desk and toying with it. "I know that I'm asking a lot of you," he replied. He paused to gather his thoughts. "My primary responsibility is to see to the safety and well-being of my crew. To do that, I need to surround myself with people I know I can trust. I have limited options here, Callie. It's you or one of the other three. When faced with that choice, it's a no-brainer. I want you."

Irritated, Callie looked away. "And my career and my feelings are no matter as long as you get what you want?" she asked.

"You know that isn't true," he responded. "If you truly don't want to do it, then I'll drop the issue. I just thought…" He paused, gathering his thoughts. "Can I be honest with you?" She glanced over her shoulder at him and nodded. "I'm worried if another counselor gets their hands on Trip right now, they'd relieve him of duty."

Callie turned completely around to face him, blinking. "It's that serious?" she asked.

He nodded. "You've known him longer and better than any of us. You can get him through this without pulling him away from the work he needs to keep himself going right now."

"The Trip Tucker that I knew was eighteen years old, hormone-driven, and enjoyed driving his car through the everglades on a Saturday night," she retorted. "That was more than a decade ago."

"You've kept in touch over the years," he countered. "Hell, it was Trip that introduced you to me."

"True." She cast a brief glance at him over her shoulder. "I should thank him for that week in Aruba." A soft, teasing glimmer danced in her eyes.

For the second time since he'd arrived, Jonathan blushed.

Callie returned a thoughtful glance to the window. "It's unprofessional and unethical," she said, thinking aloud. "Professionally, I can't treat Trip."

"Then don't treat him," Jonathan replied. "Just be his friend."

She glared at him. "It's not fair of you to ask this of me, Jonathan," Callie said with an irritated tone. "Especially since you know I can't say no to you." She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Or to Trip."

"To be fair," he ventured, "Trip isn't asking. He doesn't even know I'm here."

"Great," she replied sardonically. "Let's just spring on him that I'm joining the crew. That'll help his already volatile emotional state."

"You know he'll be happy about it," he replied. He studied her, almost afraid to hope. "So you'll do it?"

"How long before _Enterprise_ leaves?" she asked.

"Three weeks."

"Just enough time for me to find someone to take my current cases." She turned and cast him an arch look. "You owe me. A big one."


	2. Chapter 1

_Trip_

If it wasn't bad enough that we had to be cooped up at Starfleet headquarters for the better part of a month, they had to add insult to injury by sending in their engineers to upgrade and repair my ship. Personally, I don't have anything against Starfleet engineers – after all, they trained me, the best of the best. What I didn't like was someone else having their hands all over my warp drive, especially without my supervision. There were two things a man didn't do to another – put his hands on his woman, and put his hands on his warp drive.

When I returned from Vulcan a week ago and found _Enterprise_ crawling with Starfleet engineers and brass, it felt like they kicked me when I was already down. The visit to Vulcan had been… It was the worst experience of my life. Three weeks later, my heart still seemed to stop in my chest as I imagined Elizabeth's tiny little face peering up at me from the incubator. To leave her small, lifeless body behind even now, striding through the corridors of the _Enterprise_, I had to close my eyes and pause to get my bearings. Losing Lizzie had nearly cost me my sanity. Losing my daughter? That was damn near destroying me.

The trip back from Vulcan had been nearly as excruciating as the funeral itself. Right after Elizabeth had died, there had been a hot minute when I'd thought that maybe, just maybe, T'Pol and I had a chance of getting it together and making it work. We'd cried (okay, I'm man enough to admit it: I'd been the one to cry) and comforted one another and made plans for her memorial. But when the time for the service had arrived, I'd felt her pulling away from me. Now, she hardly even looked at me. And I got it. I really did. She was hurting as much as I was, and she didn't have the luxury of crying, screaming, kicking something, or cursing until she was blue in the face. Her natural instinct was to retreat into herself, control her emotions, and push them down until she just didn't feel them anymore.

In that regard, she was the lucky one. Sometimes I wished I had a way of just making myself go numb until all the hurt and heartache disappeared.

The thing was – and I'd sooner shoot myself in the foot than admit this out loud – I needed T'Pol. I needed to know someone else understood and was hurting as much as I did. It was a sucker punch to the gut that when I really needed her the most, she was running the hardest. So when we returned from that agonizing trip to Vulcan, I was looking forward to burying myself in the comforting hum of the warp engine. I figured that if no one else needed me, at least my ship did.

I honestly considered marching into Gardner's office and unloading my thoughts on the situation. Fortunately for my career, the captain talked me out of it.

Instead of taking care of my ship, I'd been briefed. The captain had insisted I take some shore leave, so I hauled myself to Mississippi and spent some time with my parents. They'd been glad to see me and real sorry about the loss of Elizabeth. But visiting with the family hadn't really brought me any comfort. Every time I looked into their faces, I felt like I'd failed them when I'd failed to protect Lizzie. And now, here I was bringing them the news I'd failed to protect not only their daughter, but their granddaughter too.

So here I was: T'Pol didn't need me. I'd failed my sister, my daughter, my parents—my family. And on top of all that, Starfleet decided they didn't need me to supervise the repairs to my own damn ship.

Wonderful. No one needed good ol' Trip anymore.

Last night, I drowned my sorrows the good old-fashioned way, as any self-respecting, red-blooded southern man would do. I dragged Jon and Malcolm down to the 602 club for a few drinks and some company. A couple of beers turned into a six pack and three Irish Car Bombs. 'Round about eleven, I lost track of how much scotch I'd downed. I did recall trying my damndest to convince Ruby to take me home with her. Deep down, I was kinda relieved that she'd turned me down.

I wished I could remember what I'd said to her. The last clear memory I had was of Jon dragging me out the door while Malcolm stayed behind to apologize to Ruby. Sometime between then and morning, Jon hauled my drunken ass to my San Francisco apartment and dumped me into bed. He left a note suggesting that it might be in my best interest to apologize to Ruby in person if I ever wanted to show my face in the 602 again.

Peachy.

I had made some headway on forcing my way into overseeing the repairs and refits to _Enterprise_. Just when I was really getting the attention of the engineers in charge, the captain called a mandatory senior staff meeting in the situation room. I tried my best to talk him into debriefing me later, but he insisted. And so, muttering to myself idle threats, I made my way to the conference room and pounded button that to open the door.

Apparently, I was the last to arrive, save the captain himself. I glanced around and muttered, "Staff meetin' in the middle of repairs. What was he thinkin'?"

"Perhaps he's thinking you have a well-trained staff can supervise the maintenance and call you if there are any problems," Malcolm suggested, smiling up at me with a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

I shot him a dirty look. "I'd feel better if I could supervise it myself," I grumbled. "'Specially when it's my warp drive those Starfleet monkeys are pokin' their noses into." Out of habit, I plopped into the chair next to T'Pol and immediately regretted it. Her scent hit me like a ton of bricks, and a hundred memories flashed through my mind, each one more painful than the one before. I sighed, glanced away, and made a mental note to sit next to Malcolm next time. He didn't smell nearly so nice. Sort of like a mix of plasma, gunpowder, and cologne.

Lacing my fingers behind my head, I leaned back in my chair and stared at the ceiling, trying to ignore the ache of a hangover hammering through my head. Maybe what I needed was a vacation. I had some shore leave built up. As conversations swirled around me, I toyed with the idea of asking the captain for to make a run to Risa. Maybe I could convince Malcolm to go with me.

Everyone jumped to their feet, snapping to attention when the doors slid open to admit Captain Jonathan Archer. He cast a smile around the room. "At ease," he said, and took his seat at the head of the table. We followed suit, glancing at one another and trying to figure gauge his mood. He caught my gaze for a brief moment and then shook his head. I was fairly sure memories from the night before were playing through his mind. Unapologetic, I met his gaze and ran my hand over the stubble of a beard I hadn't bothered to shave off that morning.

"I know you're all wondering why I've called a mandatory staff meeting," Jon began, "so I'll cut to the chase and bring you all up to speed." He paused for a moment, glancing at each of us in turn. "Starfleet has asked us to be a testbed for a new pilot program."

"What sort of program?" Malcolm asked, a small note of hope in his tone. I could almost see the wheels turning in his mind as he imagined prototypes of new weapons being installed on the ship as we spoke.

Jon took a deep breath. "Starfleet has asked we test a new ship's counselor program they are developing. They have asked us to be the first ship to include a counselor among their senior staff."

Every single one of us went quiet.

"Fascinating," Phlox finally broke the silence, genuine enthusiasm in his tone. "I would welcome the opportunity to discuss research and alien techniques with a colleague."

Obviously Phlox was excited. The more wound up he got about something, the faster he talked, and at that moment I could barely understand him.

Jon grinned. "You'll be pleased to know then, Phlox, that the counselor I've selected is a psychiatrist, and so she has a medical degree. In emergency situations, she can be a backup for you."

"Wonderful!" Phlox exclaimed. "I look forward to helping her set up."

"Captain," T'Pol broke in, "why does Starfleet believe are best suited for this type of program? It seems rather abrupt to me."

"They've had the program in development for several months, and they finally feel their counselors are ready to begin to serve on a ship," Archer explained. He then hesitated. "They felt that, given the difficulties we've faced – the Xindi, for example – the crew of the _Enterprise_ would most benefit from this type of program."

Through this entire exchange, the captain avoided looking in my direction. The longer I sat there, the hotter my face grew as I got angrier and angrier. Finally, I couldn't hold my tongue any longer. "In other words," I spoke up "they want someone here to watch me."

Jon sighed. "No, Trip, that's not it at all. Look, why don't I bring in the new counselor so you can meet her. Maybe you'll feel differently –"

"I guarantee I won't," I shot back. I jumped up and glared at him. "Cap'n, with all due respect, I'm fine. Yeah, I've been to hell and back, but I'm doin' my job and doin' a doing damn good at it. For that matter, why'm I bein' poked at? I'm not the only one who's been through it, Cap'n."

The others shifted uneasily as Jonathan closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. "Trip-"

"I don't want some shrink pokin' around in my head," I went on. "I'm fine. I don't need it."

"Tucker, get your drawers out of a wad," drawled a voice so familiar that it sent the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end. "You've never minded my poking around in your head before. Why, after all these years, are you just now getting defensive about it?"

I'd missed the door opening behind me. I spun around, jaw nearly on the ground as I stared wide-eyed at the blonde beauty who stood in the doorway. Her dark eyes met mine, sparkling with a mixture of mischief, concern, and amusement. For several minutes, it truly felt like the two of us were the only ones in the room. I that instant, I wasn't Commander Charles Tucker, engineering chief of the Starship _Enterprise_. I was fifteen-year-old Trip Tucker in Florida, who was, for the first time in my life, aware that she was, in fact, female. "Callie?" I finally managed to choke.

Jon cleared his throat. "As I was saying, Trip," he said, fighting a grin, "I specifically requested a ship's counselor who I knew we could trust to do her job and not report every little thing back to Starfleet. I thought you'd be a little more comfortable with Dr. Agroterra."

Jonathan stood and took Callie by the arm. "Everyone," he said, leading her towards the table. "Allow me to introduce you to Dr. Callista Agroterra."

She tore her gaze away from me and glanced at each of the others, casting them a genial smile. "It's a pleasure," she said, her tone friendly. "And please, don't call me Dr. Agroterra," she added. "Callie is just fine."

I still hadn't regained the ability to speak as I stared at her, trying to work my head around how, exactly, I felt about Callie now being part of the senior staff. We were ancient history – the last time we'd been together had been the day she'd packed up the last of her things to head off to Yale. We'd tried to make it work long-distance, but eventually she'd sent a "Dear Trip" letter that had ended our three-year romance. We'd known each other since we were kids, and managed to stay civil after the break-up—even went back to being friends. But that didn't mean it hadn't hurt when she'd broken it off. I'd loved Callie every bit as much as an eighteen-year-old kid was able to. It'd taken me a long time to get over it.

We'd stayed in touch, all the way up until the day the _Enterprise_ left for the Expanse. A few years ago, I'd even introduced her to Captain Archer who, at the time, had been just a commander. The two of them had been involved for a while, and I'd been proud of myself for making a good show of being happy for them. Yep, ancient history, Callie and me. I'd moved on, and so had she.

"Callie is going to take some time to meet with each of you one-on-one to get to know you a bit better before we depart," the captain was saying. I forced myself to return from my daydreams and focus on him. "Everyone, please make her feel welcome. I'm trusting all of you," he paused, letting his gaze linger on me for a moment before moving on, "to help her settle in." He smiled, and indicated that we were free to speak and move as we pleased.

The rest of the crew then took the opportunity to greet her individually as I hung back, glaring at Jon. Finally I took a deep breath, and stepped forward. Yeah, I was annoyed at the situation and would definitely have words with the captain later. But the truth? I was kinda glad to see her. So with a grin, I hugged her. "Good to see you, Lefty," I teased.

Callie laughed and squeezed me around the waist. "Good to see you, too," she replied. She glanced up at me and a glimmer of something that I couldn't quite identify passed through her eyes. I was surprised by the shiver it sent through my gut.

Hoshi looked back and forth between us. "Lefty?" she asked.

"Don't let her fool you," I replied. "She looks small and innocent, but the girl has a mean left hook. When we were in the second grade, she damn near broke my nose."

"I did break it," Callie retorted. "And it was with a dodge ball, not my fist."

I thought of that spitfire little girl standing over me in our elementary school gymnasium and my lips twitched with a genuine smile. "There's no way a dodge ball broke my nose. It had to be your fist."

The captain laughed at that and turned to the rest of us. "As I said, make sure you all help Callie settle in. You're all dismissed," he said, and then glanced at me. "Commander Tucker, why don't you show the counselor to her quarters," he suggested and named a room down the corridor from mine.

"Yes, sir," I agreed. "But first… Ensign Sato, why don't you give Callie a tour of the bridge while I have a… word with the captain for a moment?" Hoshi nodded and gestured for Callie to precede her out of the situation room. For a brief moment Callie caught my eye, snickered, and then looked at the captain in such a way that even from a distance I could see was a mixture of sympathy and a plot for her own "discussion" with him later.

As soon as everyone else filtered out, the polite smile faded from my lips and I turned on my C.O. "With all due respect, sir," I snapped. "What the hell were you thinkin'? I already have one ex on board. Are you tryin' to kill me?"

My disposition did not improve when he rolled his eyes at me. "Trip, can you honestly say that you weren't glad to see her?" he asked.

"You could have at least warned me!" I pointed out. I couldn't help it; I began pacing the situation room, dragging my fingers through my hair. "Cap'n, I'm trying my best to keep it together right now. Throwin' ghosts from my past at me isn't real likely to help."

He went quiet for a moment, and when he did finally speak it was very low. "I don't have to tell you our position with Gardner is precarious," he said. "I needed someone I know isn't going to report back to him on every move I make. I had four choices. I don't trust the other three. Callie is our best bet."

I tossed him a glance that I knew was accusatory but I didn't care. "Are you sure there weren't any personal reasons for bringin' her along?"

The captain looked insulted, which made me feel a bit better. "You know me better than that," he replied. "Besides, she and I were over almost as soon as we began."

I exhaled as I tried to wrap my head around everything that had just happened. "You sure this doesn't have anything to do with…" I trailed off. I couldn't bring myself to say the words.

"I'd be lying if I said it didn't," the captain admitted. I stiffened and felt the heat of anger rush to my face once again, but he held up a hand. "Not what you think. You're dealing with a lot right now, and… Well…" He stopped and I could see that he was looking for words that would not send me tumbling over the edge and lashing out at him. "I was afraid, Trip, that if we had someone else they would relieve you of duty."

I flinched. "I'm not that bad off, cap'n."

"No, you're not," he agreed. "You just need time and space to work through it. I thought if I brought Callie on board, she would be someone that knows you well enough to give you that time and space before pulling you out of engineering."

I thought that over for a minute, and finally heaved a sigh. "I appreciate what you're tryin' to do, cap'n," I said as I made my way to the door. "But I don't need anyone's help. I can handle this myself."

* * *

><p><em>Callie<em>

In the few minutes we spent together, I found myself instantly liking Hoshi Sato. She was young, sweet, and seemingly eager to please, but under that sugary exterior was a saucy sense of humor I couldn't help but appreciate. And she was knowledgeable – very knowledgeable. She took me around the bridge, introducing me to the various stations situated throughout, and in many cases the individuals who manned those stations. The two of us were standing and chatting with Malcolm Reed when the door to the situation room slid open and Trip entered the bridge.

Whenever I picture him in my mind, it's always Trip at seventeen. Tall, and with that southern charm that seems to ooze out of every pore of his body. It startled me a bit when the confident man that he'd grown into stepped out onto the bridge. It hadn't been that long ago since I'd seen him. When the Xindi had attacked Earth and _Enterprise_ had been recalled, Trip made a brief stop by my office while he was at Starfleet headquarters. It had only been a brief visit, mostly to commiserate over the loss of his sister, Liz. Even so, I was ill-prepared for the sight of him when I walked into the situation room, and was still not prepared even just a few minutes later.

If it was possible, Trip had grown taller since adolescence. The youthful look was gone and he had bulked up. If I had any doubt that the broad chest and shoulders were pure muscle that doubt vanished when I hugged him. The boy I knew was gone, and was replaced by a man.

The clear blue eyes I had spent hours gazing into at sixteen were now shadowed and haunted. They were eyes that had seen more than any human should have to see. Dark circles had taken up residence under them, and it was obvious he hadn't bothered to shave that morning. He looked exhausted, ancient, and as if the weight of the world rested on his shoulders.

"Come on, Cal," he said, stepping towards the lift and motioning for me to follow him. "I'll show you your quarters."

I smiled a farewell to Hoshi and Malcolm and followed him onto the lift. We stood silently as the lift rushed through the ship. "She's beautiful," I finally said.

Trip looked at me sharply. "Who?" he asked, confusion in his tone.

"The ship. _Enterprise_," I replied. "Her chief engineer has taken good care of her."

I came from a family of engineers. My father and all three of my brothers were all engineers in some fashion or another. So I knew my appreciation for the machinery surrounding us would inflate Trip's ego somewhat. Sure enough, I could see him lighten ever so slightly as he cast a prideful glance around at the corridor that we stepped out into.

"She's gotten us through some pretty tight spots," he replied. "And held together." He shook his head. "I worked on the Columbia for a few weeks. Impressive machine, but still doesn't hold a candle to my Enterprise."

"I'll tell Alex you said so," I retorted, referring to my oldest brother. "He was on the engineering crew that worked on the 02."

Trip chuckled. "It's good to see you, Callie," he admitted. "I'm sorry if I was standoffish back there… " He trailed off. "I was just caught off-guard." He glanced over at me. "You look good."

I lifted a brow. "I wish I could say the same, Trip," I said. Pausing, I took I deep breath. "Jon told me about the baby. I wanted to say that I'm sorry…"

"Don't mention it," he said brusquely, his eyes fixed straight ahead.

"Trip—"

"I said, don't mention it," he said, turning to me. "As in, Callie, I really don't want to talk about it."

I was stunned by the raw pain in his blue eyes and realized I'd touched on a nerve that he wasn't ready for anyone to be going near. "Okay," I murmured. "I won't bring it up again."

He didn't respond, but merely stalked down the corridor. After several silent moments, we arrived at a door and he punched in a code to open it. "This'll be yours," he said, gesturing for me to step inside. I nodded and did so, peering around the small quarters with an appraising eye. "It's not much," he went on, "but being senior staff has its advantage. We get a window and private quarters. Crewmen have to double up." A faint smirk danced over his lips. "Still not as nice as the captain's, but it'll do." He glanced around as if unsure of what to say next. "All of the senior staff are on this hallway. In fact, I'm next door." Again, he smirked humorlessly. "Welcome to the neighborhood."

"Thanks," I said as I idly ran a finger over the smooth metal of the desk in the corner. "I'm going to have to rethink what I was going to bring aboard," I deadpanned.

"Well, if you need anything let me know," Trip said. "I'm gonna head down to Engineering."

"Trip," I said, searching for the right words.

He didn't meet my eyes. "I'll see you around, Callie," he mumbled and then slipped out of the room.


	3. Chapter 2

_**Author's Notes: **__Thanks for the reviews! I enjoy getting feedback and constructive criticism, so I appreciate you taking the time to send me your thoughts. _

_Alelou – Oh, I'm aware that she's doing something extremely unprofessional. SHE knows she's doing something extremely unprofessional. But sometimes there are some people that- for whatever reason-we just can't say no to in life. Callie is facing one of those situations. But who? ;)_

_And off we go again…_

Chapter Two

_Callie_

It's depressing to have to pack up one's entire life into boxes.

Making arrangements for my San Francisco townhouse had been surprisingly easy. My brother, Nik, had married a few months ago, and he and his wife, Amy, had been looking for a place in the city. Finding affordable housing in San Francisco–particularly something near Starfleet, where Nik works – was nearly impossible. And so, the simple solution had been to let Nik and Amy live in my townhouse while I was off-world. In exchange for free rent, Nik agreed to take care of the upkeep.

That just left my personal belongings. I had a lot more stuff than I'd thought.

Sighing, I looked around my bedroom, littered with clothes, shoes, bags, and other personal items. My gaze lingered on a box that I'd unearthed from beneath my bed, and I smiled. Gingerly, I lifted the lid and let my fingers graze over the contents: a corsage from my senior prom; a photo of myself, Jonathan, and Porthos taken in Aruba; a bolt from an engine I'd helped Trip break down when we were sixteen; a Stanford t-shirt I'd never gotten around to returning to Jonathan; a Yale t-shirt that I'd stolen a boyfriend in my junior year of college. The box was a shrine to twenty years of loves come and gone.

Again I sighed. This was getting depressing. It was time to stop focusing on the past and focus instead on what I needed to do for the future.

I had just gotten myself motivated to start sorting through my too-large collection of shoes (every woman needs a vice; I have two – shoes and musical instruments) when I heard the doorbell ring downstairs. Relief flooded through me. With only a week left until _Enterprise_ departed, my parents had offered to come and help me pack up the rest of my belongings, and to say their goodbyes. I knew my departure was going to be difficult for them. My twin brother, Ari, was already serving as an engineer on the _Columbia_. Now they were losing two children to the depths of space, with no idea when they would see either one of us again. Dropping two pairs of heels into a "toss" pile, I thundered down the stairs to let them in.

"Thank God you're here—" I cut off as I flung the door open, and glanced down, suddenly self-conscious of my dusty Yale sweatshirt and jeans. Standing on my front porch were not only my parents, but two faces that I hadn't seen in years.

Catherine and Charles Tucker. Charles the Second, that is.

"I… Hi," I finally managed, casting my parents a puzzled look. I imagined I looked like a proverbial deer caught in the headlights.

"Callista!" my mother cried, throwing her arms around me. Her Greek accent had faded during her years in America, but it was still there. It warmed me, and for a moment, I felt maudlin about leaving Terra Firma for the cold emptiness of space. "You are too thin," she pronounced, cupping my chin and eyeing me critically. "I will cook dinner."

I rolled my eyes, an action my father echoed with a chuckle. "Mama, food isn't the answer to everything," I chided, though a smile touched my lips.

"We are Greek!" she replied. "We're happy, we eat. We're sad, we eat. Our daughter is leaving for space, we eat lots." She thought for a moment. "Souvlaki, tzaziki, baklava. Your favorites." Without another word, Mama made her way towards my kitchen to examine the contents of my pantry.

I shook my head and my father. "She'll be back in a minute with a grocery list," I told him, deadpan. "The cabinets are empty."

He laughed and gave me a bone-crushing squeeze. I knew it was difficult for him to let me go. In his mind, I was not a thirty-five-year-old accomplished career woman, but still a twelve-year-old little girl helping he and my brothers break down an engine in the garage. "Your mother, once she has her mind set on something…"

"I know, I know." I grinned up at him, released him, and then turned to his companions. "Mr. and Mrs. Tucker," I greeted them warmly. "It's been years!"

Catherine took her turn to give me a warm embrace. "Callie, dear," she replied. She stood back and held my hands, looking me over. "Your mother told us you're heading off with the _Enterprise__,_ so we thought we would come and offer moral support. The four of us'll be anxious to hear word from the ship."

Charles snorted. "Considering how little Trip writes these days…" He grunted when Catherine elbowed him as we entered my living room. "Alright, let's not beat 'round the bush," he said, rubbing his hands together. "What sort of heavy lifting do you need done, Callie?"

Fifteen minutes later, my father and Charles were en route to my storage unit with a load of boxes. My mother, clucking in disapproval of my sparsely stocked kitchen, armed herself with a shopping list and headed for the grocery store.

Which left me alone with Catherine.

"Well, it's you and me, kiddo," she said with a grin. "What were you working on?"

"Bedroom." I groaned. "It's a disaster."

Together we made our way up to my bedroom. Catherine paused at the doorway, her blue eyes taking in the piles scattered here and there. Chuckling, she shook her head. "I think you have more shoes than even Lizzie had," she observed.

I grinned as I picked up a stack of jackets. "I'm not really sure that's possible."

Catherine laughed and stepped over to the bed to sort through my handbags. "Are you going to need any of these?" she asked.

I glanced over my shoulder. "Probably not," I relented with a morose sigh. "From what Jon has told me about life on the _Enterprise_, social activities are pretty much limited to the occasional dignitary visits and Trip's movie nights. Put 'em in a box."

Chuckling, she nodded and reached for the one that sat on the bed, and then paused. "Oh," she breathed, reaching into it and retrieving the corsage. She gazed at it fondly for several moments. "Did you know he picked this out all on his own?" she asked. "He fretted for a week over finding just the right flowers to match your dress."

"I didn't know that," I replied absently. For a heartbeat, my mind was back in that gym in Panama City, seventeen years ago. I could hear the clicking of girlish high-heels against the wooden gymnasium floors, and smell the cologne Trip had bathed himself in.

"Callie," Catherine finally spoke up, setting the corsage down. "I admit, I had ulterior motives for asking your parents if we could come along to help."

I exhaled as I finished packing the jackets into a box. "You're worried about Trip," I said, slowly.

She blushed. "I'm sorry, maybe I shouldn't have –"

"No, it's okay," I replied. "This seems to be a common theme these days. Jonathan Archer and I had a similar conversation when he asked me to take the posting." I glanced at her. "I've seen Trip a few times over the last few weeks," I added. "I think I can understand why everyone is concerned."

She toyed with the strap of a handbag as she sat on my bed. "He came to visit us," she said. "Callie, it was like he was a ghost in the house. He would barely talk, hardly ate. I'm not even sure he slept all that much." Catherine took a deep breath to steady herself. "We tried to talk to him about the baby…" Her voice broke.

"I did too," I murmured as I folded a shirt and packed it into a box to go with me to _Enterprise_. "That didn't end well."

"None of our conversations with him lately end well." Catherine said. She closed her eyes. "There's no pain in the world worse than losing a child. But seeing your child in so much pain that they won't let anyone in? That comes pretty close."

I ran my tongue over my upper lip. "What do you want me to do?" I asked.

"You and Trip… You've always had a bond." She smiled. "When you were little, your mama and I were sure that the two of you would end up married one day. Honestly, I was as crushed as he was when the two of you split. But you've still stayed friends. You've always been there for each other. If anyone can get through to him… If anyone can bring him back…" She paused, gathering her thoughts as she dropped a stack of handbags in a box. "I've lost one child. I can't lose another."

I closed my eyes, the weight of the situation settling on my shoulders. "I'll… do my best," I said helplessly, suddenly unsure if I was cut out for this job.

* * *

><p><em>Hoshi <em>

The first few days after leaving Earth were always uneventful. We were in friendly and familiar territory, so there wasn't a huge need to monitor comm signals. The launch had gone well. The engines were in excellent working order (or close to it; Commander Tucker had been heard grumbling that he needed to fine-tune it) and our ship was sailing through space. The captain, satisfied with the ship's performance, had retired to his ready room to review the recent upgrades to _Enterprise_ and our current mission objectives.

I was a little unsettled. Returning to the ship after spending time at home always felt a bit strange, like switching back to wearing jeans after a summer of shorts and skirts. It was familiar, but it took a while to acclimate again. I had spent my shore leave in Japan, needing to be close to my family after all that had happened. And now here I was, back on my second home and with my second family.

Except none of them were available. The captain was busy reading reports; Malcolm was gleefully playing with his new toys in the armory; Travis was nowhere to be found; and Trip had his head buried in the impulse manifolds, growling at anyone brave enough to come near. I'd never had a close relationship with Commander T'Pol, so the notion of asking if she wanted to hang out didn't sound appealing.

On a whim, I found myself making my way to the new counselor's quarters. The captain had said we should make her feel included, and I'd only met her twice. I'd been surprised by Captain Archer's easy acceptance of the staff member forced on him by Admiral Gardner. Later, I heard the captain and our new counselor had known each other before. And by the greeting they had shared when she boarded, I'd gathered that she and Trip were also familiar with one another.

I'd spoken to Lieutenant Kelby in the mess hall the night before, and he told me that the counselor had done his psychological evaluation before his assignment to _Enterprise_. His take on her was that she was easygoing, and had a healthy respect for Starfleet personnel. If we had to have a counselor, it sounded like the captain had chosen the best one for the job.

I hesitated outside of the counselor's door before I finally lifted a hand and pushed the call button. "Come in," called a voice from within.

The door slid open and I stepped inside, finding the counselor surrounded by cargo boxes. She stood with her hands on her hips and frowning as she glanced around. "Counselor?" I began, noticing objects scattered across her floor.

"I think I understand now why my father kept saying I was bringing too much," she said with a sigh. "I think my closet at home was bigger than this whole room."

I laughed. "You get used to it," I said. "I've cut down a lot over the last five years."

"I think I have storage room enough for it all," she mused. "It's just a matter of figuring out how to pack it all in there." She stared at the mess for a moment, and then shot me a grin. "So what can I do for you, Ensign?" she asked.

I loved listening to her speak. The counselor's inflections are a hodgepodge of several different regions, all of which I hadn't yet been able to pick out. "The captain said we should help make you feel welcome, so I thought I'd see if you needed help settling in," I explained. "I could help you-" I paused, gazing helplessly at the mess, "-sort this out, Counselor?"

She laughed. "Call me Callie, and yes, I'd love some help. Maybe you could hang those shirts while I try to make sense of these books?"

I nodded and went to work. "Can I ask you a personal question?"

She glanced over her shoulder as she lined books up on a shelf above her desk. "Sure, I guess," she replied, her tone wary.

"I listen to you speak, and I hear multiple inflections in your voice," I said. "Where, exactly, are you from?"

Callie lifted a book to the shelf and chuckled. "Greece, originally. I was born there, moved to the States when I was eighteen months old."

That explained some of her conflicting articulations. As to the rest… "Florida?"

She nodded, grinning. "Panama City."

"That's why it sounds familiar," I said, slipping a hanger into a shirt. "The way you pronounce certain words reminds me of Commander Tucker." I eyed her. "And that's how you know him?"

"I guess there's no point in hiding it," she said, shrugging as she turned to line some photographs along the shelf over her bunk. "Yeah, Trip and I go way back. Way, way back." She stopped for a moment, and tilted her head in a pensive manner. "Wow, thirty years. Way, way, way back."

"Thirty years?" I sputtered, stunned.

She nodded. "Trip and I met the first day of kindergarten, when we were five years old," she said, a note of fondness in her voice. "And we went to school together right up until the day we graduated at eighteen. We've known each other a long, long time."

I fell silent, thinking that over. "And the captain?" I ventured.

"I've only known Jon for seven or so years," she replied. "Actually, Trip introduced us after I started working for Starfleet."

A small, sly grin spread over my lips. "How well do you know the captain?" I asked innocently.

She didn't meet my eyes as she adjusted a picture frame. "Well enough."

I received the unspoken message loud and clear: this was obviously a topic she did not want to discuss. I dropped it, filing her reaction away. I stepped over next to her to survey the photos she had lined up. "Wow," I said, picking one up and examining it. Lined up with Callie were five other men and women, all with hair ranging in shades of auburn and brown, and all with similar dark eyes. "Are _all_ of these your brothers and sisters?"

She relaxed with a grin. "All six of us," she said wryly. "My parents always wanted a big family, and so…" She leaned over my shoulder and pointed to each one in succession. "In order: Alex, Meg, Nik, Ari – older than me only by four minutes – Callie, and Ellie."

I laughed and shook my head. "I'm an only child, so that's so hard for me to imagine."

Callie chuckled. "Life was never quiet – or boring for that matter – around our house. That's for sure."

My gaze drifted down the line of photos and came to rest on a snapshot of Callie with a blonde woman, standing in what appeared to be New York City. I frowned at the photo as I stared at it, as something about the woman was familiar. "Who is that?" I asked, tapping the frame.

A sad smile touched her lips. "I don't have many girlfriends," she murmured, "and she was probably the closest friend I've ever had."

"Was?" I asked hesitantly.

Callie glanced at me, regret in her dark eyes. "She died," she replied. "The Xindi attack…"

I could have kicked myself. "I'm sorry, I didn't think…" I began. She waved dismissively and turned to set up a small electronic piano behind her desk. "… What was her name?" I finally asked.

Callie appeared to debate whether or not she wanted to answer. "Liz," she said softly. "Liz Tucker."

Commander Tucker's sister. I wished the floor would open up and swallow me. "I'm sorry," I said. I was silent as I watched memories and emotions register on Callie's expressive face. "Commander Tucker… He was devastated when she died, but he's never really talked about her."

A slow grin spread over her lips. "Energetic," she said. "And one hell of an architect. The day of the attack, she'd just gotten word that she'd won a major bid for a building in Chicago and called me to tell me about it. Loved shoes," she went on, a laugh on her lips. "That girl had more shoes than anyone I know."

She sank down on the bed, thoughtful. "From the few letters I've exchanged with him since she died, I think Trip has tendency to view her a tad more saintly than she was." Her smile widened. "Liz had a devilish side. Once every couple months, we would pick a city and meet there for the weekend. We'd shop, eat, stay up way too late and drink too much wine while we talked about men and sex and every other scandalous thing women talk about."

I smiled. "She sounds like she was a lot of fun," I said and meant it.

"She and Trip were always close, but when they were kids they fought like cats and dogs – mostly because they were so much alike," Callie chuckled. "Both stubborn, emotional, and strong-willed. They have a brother, Andy, who's right smack between them."

I tilted my head. "I never knew the commander had a brother," I mused.

"Trip and Andy were close in age, but Trip was thick as thieves with Liz." She laughed and her eyes lit up as a memory filled her mind. "I remember when Trip and I were about seventeen—Liz would have been thirteen**—**and Trip caught her kissing a neighbor boy in the backyard. He chased the poor boy off. Liz and Trip got into a knock-down, drag-out with Liz moaning about how Trip had ruined her life and she hated him. So I walk into the kitchen, and there's Andy, calmly sitting at the counter reading a comic book and eating chips." She laughed harder. "At my house, when two of us were fighting then all six of us were involved, but not Andy. I asked him why he wasn't in on it, and he said, 'Cause Trip's bigger than me, and Lizzie fights dirty.'"

I laughed. "Sometimes, I'm so glad I was the only one," I managed.

Callie wiped away a tear, and I couldn't tell if it was from mirth or grief. "I miss her," she said, smiling sadly at the photo. She paused. "I miss Trip, too."

Silence hung between us for several minutes, Callie lost in her memories and me lost in my thoughts. I dared to break the tranquility. "I have a confession," I said, somewhat shyly. "I'm…glad that you're on board. For a personal reason."

She raised a brow with a small smile. "You're nice and all, Ensign, but my preference doesn't exactly go that way. "

"No, no!" I stammered, blushing furiously. I took a moment to regain my bearings. "Females make up only thirty percent of the entire crew on this ship. Because I'm on the senior staff, the other women on board keep me at arm's length. And T'Pol…" I hesitated. "I like her, I respect her, and I admire her. But she's not the kind of woman I'd call if I wanted to hang out over a bottle of wine. So I guess, what I'm saying is…"

"I bring the wine, you bring the conversation?" she supplied, grinning conspiratorially.

"Well…yeah," I replied lamely. "I know I'm not a substitute for Liz, but…life can get pretty lonely out here in space. You'll need a friend. If you do, you've got one."

A smile spread over her lips. "Hoshi," she said, "this could be the start of a beautiful friendship"


	4. Chapter 3

_**Author's Notes:**__ Continued appreciation and thanks to my wonderful beta, Misplaced. She rocks. _

_**Alelou**__ – There WILL be some adventure. I just needed a few chapters to set things up. Incidentally, in a round-about way I have been invited to Callie's parents' for dinner. Callie's family is loosely based on a family that lived in my hometown when I was growing up. They were a very large, very Greek family who owned the best restaurant I've ever had the privilege of eating in. Haha! As for the relationships between Callie/Trip and Callie/Jon… Well, just keep reading. ;)_

Chapter Thee

Jon

We spent the first few days out of dry dock sticking close to home and testing the upgrades to our engines and weapon systems. I think we were all chomping at the bit to really stretch our wings, but we erred on the side of caution, making sure it all worked while we were still within a quick flight back to Jupiter Station.

I had enjoyed watching the delight on Malcolm's face as he experimented with his new toys. He was like a kid on Christmas morning as he explored upgraded phase cannons and torpedoes. Satisfied that everything worked properly, I decided it was time to leave the safety of our home system and head off into deep space.

But the question was where. At the moment, _Enterprise_ didn't have a set mission aside from the usual directive to explore, to map, and to meet new species. I'd poured over star charts, excited at the prospect of being Captain Jonathan Archer the explorer again. Nothing seemed to jump out at me, though. I was relieved when I received a communiqué from Gardner. It wasn't a mission, really. It wasn't an order, and it wasn't a diplomatic situation. But it was a location. And it was a start.

I called a senior staff meeting in the conference room, specifically requesting that the doctor and the counselor be in attendance. I was gazing out of the window when they all clambered in, chattering with one another. Hoshi was having an animated conversation with Travis and Malcolm about a movie they'd all seen while on shore leave. Phlox, T'Pol, and Callie were engrossed in a discussion on the finer points of Vulcan, human, and Denobulan psychology. And Trip… For a moment, I could swear that he hadn't made it up from Engineering yet, but when I turned around he was seated at the table. I sighed when I saw his haggard face, and I glanced at Callie who shrugged and shook her head. She'd had no better luck getting through to him than I had.

I took a seat at the head of the table and gestured for everyone to join me. "Take a seat," I said. "I have some news I want to share, straight from Starfleet Command." I fought a grin when my senior staff shared speculative looks with each other as they sat down. "I know everyone has been wondering where we're going to be heading once testing of the new weapons systems is complete."

"Sir, we finished those just this morning," Malcolm interjected, a sparkle of excitement in his eyes. "They are all performing well above expectations."

"Good," I replied. "Because we have…" I paused. "Not really a mission or an assignment, but something that I felt we'd all want to attend." I glanced around the table. "We're heading to Denobula."

Phlox perked up. "That's wonderful, Captain!" he declared. "You'll have an opportunity to experience my culture, sample some of the cuisine, see some of the historic landmarks—"

Chuckling, I held up a hand to interrupt him. "Yes, I've thought of that," I replied. "We'll be there for a few days so you'll have some time to spend with your family." My smile widened. "And to attend the banquet."

He blinked, puzzled. "Banquet, Captain?"

I glanced around the table. "The Denobulan government would like to hold a state dinner in your honor. In light of the recent forming of the Coalition, your government would like to celebrate your four years of service on a Coalition vessel.

It took a lot to surprise Phlox, but I was fairly certain he was stunned by this point. "Captain, I had no idea… I don't deserve that!" He flushed, humbled.

"You do, Phlox," I replied. "You've been an invaluable asset to this crew. You've been with us through the Expanse and every other crisis we've been through." I smiled. "Doctor, you deserve a medal just for the amount of time you've had to put into patching Trip and me up on a regular basis."

"Down the table, Trip rolled his eyes sardonically. "Ha, ha."

"The captain does have a point, Commander," Phlox replied. "You do hold the record for most time spent in sickbay over the last four years."

I saw the red heat of anger flush in Trip's cheeks and his mouth opening to speak. I stepped in before he blew up. "We'll all," I cast a glance at Trip, who reluctantly shut his mouth, "be attending the dinner. If anyone would like a chance to explore the planet while we're in orbit, you're free to do so. We'll be there for about a week before moving on with the rest of our mission."

"And what is the rest of our mission, Captain?" T'Pol spoke up.

That was the question of the hour, the one hanging on everyone's minds. "That's up to us," I replied. "Our standing orders are to seek out new worlds and new life. We'll need to decide where we'd like to go. If anyone has any thoughts, I'm all ears."

Silence.

"So many possibilities, Sir," Hoshi finally mused. I could see her mind spinning with thoughts of the new languages we'd encounter along the way.

"It's a big galaxy," Malcolm finally ventured. "We've explored so little, really."

"Perhaps it would be wise to consider our options for a few days and reconvene when we are ready to leave Denobula Triaxa," T'Pol said. "As Ensign Sato has stated, there are many possibilities. We should weigh them carefully."

"That's a good suggestion, Commander," I said to her. "Everyone think about it, and we'll talk about it in a few days. Look over the star charts and the Vulcan database. If you see something interesting, bring it up." I felt almost giddy. We hadn't had that sort of freedom in a long time, and it felt wonderful. "Before I dismiss you all, there's one more thing I want to take care of."

I reached into my pocket and pulled out two small boxes. "As a captain," I began as I opened the boxes, "there are a lot of duties that fall on my shoulders. Today, I get to perform my favorite one." I glanced up, grinning. "Promotions." I removed a pip from each box and stood, my posture formal. "Ensigns Sato and Mayweather, if you would…"

The two of them glanced at one another in surprise and delight, and rose to their feet, standing at attention in front of me. "You both have given four years of exemplary service on this ship," I said, carefully pinning the extra pip on each of their uniforms. "Thank you," I added, "Lieutenants Sato and Mayweather."

A smattering of applause echoed my thanks, and even Trip couldn't resist a smile. "Thanks, Captain," Hoshi said, flushing and grinning widely.

"Yeah, thanks!" Travis echoed. He gazed down at the pips on his chest and smiled proudly. "This is fantastic!"

I grinned at them both. "I believe that Chef has a celebration set up in the mess hall," I said. "You're dismissed. I'll join you in a minute." I offered my new lieutenants one last parting grin, and then glanced at the floor. "Trip, a word?"

He was halfway to the door when my voice reached him, and I could see him sigh and roll his eyes. The others made their way out, offering Hoshi, Travis, and even Phlox congratulations. Callie was the last one, pausing long enough to look back at me with a questioning brow. I motioned for her to go on with the others. She glanced once at Trip, and then nodded and exited, leaving the two of us alone.

He stood, glancing at the window with his hands on his hips. "I don't feel much like a party anyway," he muttered.

"Trip…" I sighed, easing one hip onto the conference table. "You're their commanding officer. They look to you for leadership. They will want to know you support their promotion."

"I do support them, Cap'n," Trip protested. "I'm happy for 'em. Proud of 'em. But I'm not in the mood to be goin' down to the mess hall, slappin' on a happy face, and pretendin' like everything's all nice and great. I just don't have it in me right now." He headed towards the door. "So if you'll excuse me, I have things I need to do in Engineering."

"Commander, I haven't dismissed you," I snapped.

Trip whipped his head back around as if I'd slapped him. I felt gnawing guilt in the pit of my stomach. Sighing, I pinched the bridge of my nose. "I want you to start seeing the ship's counselor at least once a week," I said.

I expected the refusal. "What?" Trip cried. "Cap'n, I'm fine. I don't need to-"

"You do need to," I interrupted. My eyes dropped to the floor as I gathered my thoughts "Trip," I continued, my voice softening, "I know you've been through hell." He looked away. "I know you're hurting. I'm trying to give you space and time. But…" I hesitated. "I can't ignore the fact that I've had three requests for transfer out of engineering in the last week." He flinched, and I knew I'd hit him hard. "Your crew knows you're hurting right now, and they're trying to be patient with you. Maybe it's time to accept that you need some help."

He glared at me for a long time, and I braced myself for the argument I knew was coming. But Trip surprised me. His shoulders sagged, and he dragged his hand through his hair. "Maybe you're right," he said. His eyes met mine, and I could see the troubled guilt that simmered below the hurt and grief. "It's a punch in the gut knowin' my own crew doesn't want to be around me."

I knew he was telling the truth. Trip prided himself on running a tight department, but one in which his crew felt comfortable coming to him. Engineering was the toughest crew on the ship to work in, and I knew it. Many days it meant long hours and hard work, and I was proud of Trip for his willingness to be right in the thick of it and working alongside his crew. To make up for the grueling work, Trip maintained a light-hearted atmosphere on most days. It wasn't unusual for the occasional prank war to break out, with the chief right in the middle of it all. As long as they didn't pull any dangerous stunts, I generally kept my nose out it. That members of his crew wanted to jump ship now had to be hitting Trip like a ton of bricks.

He paced, wrapping his arms around his torso protectively. "I don't want to have to be pourin' out every little thing that's going on in my head to someone else. Some of the stuff in my head right now, _I_ don't even like. Anybody else would think I'm crazy."

"Callie's known you for thirty years," I countered. A smirk danced on my lips. "She's aware that you're crazy."

At least that earned me a small smile. "You're probably right," he said. "I just hate to go and prove her right. She's damned insufferable when she's right and she knows it." He sighed and ran his hand over his face. "Is this a request or an order?" he asked.

"Right now, it's a request," I replied. "But if you wait too long…"

"Okay, okay… I hear ya."

I gazed at him for a long moment. "Trip-"

"Am I dismissed?" he asked, cutting me off.

It hurt. I wanted so much to reach out to him, but every time I tried he shut me down. Sighing, I nodded. "Yes, dismissed," I said. He gave me a curt nod, spun on his heel, strode out of the room, and left me to stare helplessly after him.

* * *

><p>Trip<p>

I gave it a good shot at avoiding the Captain's "request" for a few days. I found excuses to work longer hours in Engineering, leaving no room in my schedule for anything more than a quick bite to eat and sleep. Okay, that wasn't necessarily true: it was more like go to bed and toss and turn half the night. But it kept me out of the counselor's office. On the fourth day, though, I had to go to the bridge to inspect some relays under Malcolm's console. I kept it brief did my job as fast as I could.

Unfortunately as I was making my way back to the turbolift, the captain's voice reached me from his command chair. "Trip, how's that request coming along?"

I dropped my head. "I haven't gotten to it yet," I called back over my shoulder.

He didn't look up from the data PADD in his hand. "How about seeing to that this afternoon?"

I was stuck, and I knew it. Resentfully, I nodded. "Yes, sir," I replied, unable to hide the annoyance in my tone. I stepped onto the turbolift and spun around to watch the doors slide closed, surprised to catch the captain's worried glance as he watched me go.

I rebelled against the "request" and put it off for a full two hours after I left the bridge. Finally, I realized that I couldn't dawdle any more. I called out to Hess and let her know she was in charge for a bit, and with a mutter under my breath, I made my way to the counselor's office.

I hesitated outside, resting my head against the cool metal of the door as I tried to muster the courage to ring the chime. I didn't want to be there. Cursing the captain, I pressed the button. When Callie answered in a distracted voice, I opened the door and stepped inside.

Either she was a damn good actress, or she was genuinely surprised to see me. "Trip," she greeted. "What… How's it going?"

I plopped down into the chair across her desk, planted my elbow on the desktop, and rested my chin in my palm. "It's been 'requested' that I start seeing you at least once a week," I drawled.

She raised a brow and set aside her PADD. "Who 'requested'?" she asked, her tone saying that she already knew.

"The Cap'n," I retorted, and looked away. "He says he's received several requests out of engineering for transfers, and he's worried about me. So, he got the bright idea that talking to you will help."

She sighed and rubbed her forehead. "Do you think it will?" she asked.

"No," I replied without hesitation. "But if I don't, then the request becomes an order."

"He's worried about you," she said, gently.

I dropped my eyes. "I know," I replied. "I just…" I trailed off, not quite sure what I wanted to say.

Callie studied me. "There was a time," she said, "when there wasn't anything you couldn't talk to me about."

"I wish I could go back to those days, because I do kinda think if I talked to someone about it, maybe I would feel better. But…" I shrugged. "I just can't talk to you about this. Some of it… You don't want to hear it."

She raised a brow. "Women?" she asked, leaning back in her chair. "Trip, come on… I know you haven't lived a celibate life any more than I have."

I frowned. For some reason, that bothered me more than it should have. My eyes focused on her desk, and for the first time I took notice of the pictures she'd scattered there. I stared at one of her standing with another woman in front of the Eiffel Tower. I blinked and picked it up as I recognized that the woman with her was my sister.

"When was this taken?" I asked.

She laughed. "About six years ago, and that's not really the Eiffel Tower. We were in Vegas." A smile touched her lips at the memory. "I'd just gone through a breakup that hurt a little more than I wanted to admit, so Liz suggested we hit the casinos for the weekend. We had a blast, but I don't have to tell you that your sister was tough to keep up with sometimes."

I smiled faintly as I studied the picture. Lizzie looked like she'd been laughing at something, and Callie was making motions that Lizzie was crazy. I ran my fingertip over my sister's cheek. "Six years ago…" I mused. I glanced up at her. "Jon?" I guessed, raising a brow.

She flushed and glanced away. "You said you never wanted to hear the details of what happened between Jon and me."

"I did say that, didn't I?" Uncomfortable, I dragged my hand through my hair. "How're your brothers and sisters?" I asked.

She let my change-of-subject ride. "They're all fine," she replied. "Alex is working at Jupiter Station now. Nic just got married and is working at the Warp 5 Complex." She ticked them off on her fingers. "Meg has two small ones and is teaching at NYU. Ellie is winding up a cardio-thoracic surgery fellowship at Dartmouth. And," she added, a slow, devilish grin spreading over her lips, "Ari was just assigned to the _Columbia_."

I stared at her for a long time. "They let Ari on the _Columbia_?" I asked. She nodded. "And Hernandez hasn't killed him yet?"

Her grin widened and she shook her head. "But, to be fair, he is assigned to night shift, so she doesn't have to deal with him."

I chuckled. "It never fails to amaze me that you and Ari came from the same womb," I said, fiddling with a seashell on her desk. "Aside from giving Hernandez headaches, how is he?"

"He's our Aristotle," she replied with a smile. "He never changes." Her smile became mischievous. "He has found a creative way of fighting back against Mama Melina's nagging about his personal life."

I eyed her. "I'm afraid to ask."

"If she nags him, then he tells her all about his personal life," she went on, eyes twinkling. "Every single last detail."

This time I laughed. "Your brother is such an evil bastard," I finally managed.

"How about you?" she asked. "How's Andy and his family?"

"He's fine," I answered. "They're still in Ireland, too far away for Mom's taste. But they're doing great."

Callie fell silent. "Your mom and dad came to see me before we left," she finally said, her dark eyes meeting mine.

I was stunned. "They did?" I asked. My brow furrowed. "Why?"

"My mother told them I was being assigned to the _Enterprise_," she said. "Mama and Papa were coming to help me pack up, and they tagged along to help." She toyed with the seashell herself. "They're worried about you."

I lowered my eyes and stared at her desk. "I know they are," I admitted. "I just…"

"I know, Trip," she replied gently. She sighed. "Look, coming to see me once a week isn't going to do either of us a damn bit of good if you aren't ready to talk about this. I'll talk to Jon and ask him to back off and give you some space. But Trip?" She stood and stepped around her desk, kneeling in front of me. "I meant what I said. There was a time in our lives that there wasn't anything you couldn't talk to me about. For whatever it's worth, I'm still here for you. Whatever has changed between us, that hasn't."

I couldn't speak. My throat tightened and it just wouldn't work. Finally, I squeezed her hand, pulling her to her feet as I stood. "Thanks." I finally managed. I mulled it all over as I headed towards the door. There was so much I wanted to tell her. Deep down, I figured I'd feel better if I did get it off my chest. But I held back. As much as I wanted to talk to her, I just wasn't ready to get into those emotions.

The truth was, I was afraid if I touched them, they'd overwhelm me.

"I'll think about it," was all I said before I stepped through the door and into the corridor.


	5. Chapter 4

_**Author's Note:**__ The feedback I've been getting has been interesting-and good! To all the T&T shippers that have expressed concerns, my only response is to say "relax." I think all will be satisfied in the end. Just remember that things tend to get worse before they get better._

_Also, I tend to write with music or playlists frequently. This chapter is one of those situations. T'Pol's part in this chapter was written as I listened to "Broken Road" by 12 Stones, if you're interested._

Chapter Four

T'Pol

Because Vulcans suppress their emotions, humans assume we are not as affected by loss. They would be mistaken. The days following the death of my daughter, Elizabeth, were the darkest of my life. Most of it was a blur of sympathetic glances and hollow words as those around Trip and I—our friends and family—made vain attempts to comfort us both. I scarcely remember the memorial service on Vulcan, though I was certain the image of Elizabeth's lifeless body joining my mother's in the family mausoleum would be forever burned in my mind.

And the grief. As much as my own, I felt Trip's heartbreak in waves through the bond between us. Several times he made attempts to reach out to me, but I could not return his affection. Not because I did not want to. It would have been effortless to lose myself in his embrace as we comforted one another, but I was having difficulty maintaining control of my own emotions. Rather than collapse under the weight of our combined pain, I pushed him away.

I knew this only compounded his hurt. I could see it in his eyes, feel it as he watched me. I was helpless. I had little experience dealing with my own emotions. The intensity and depth of his were more than I was prepared to face. It was easier to hold him at arm's length rather than dive into the unbridled force of his human emotions.

I had taken to meditating more out of necessity. As my sorrow became increasingly difficult to suppress, I relied on the quiet solitude of my quarters and the escape of my white space. It brought me calm and peace. The familiarity and routine helped me find sanity.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

The gentle heat of the candle flames danced on my skin. A blank canvas filled my mind, and I relaxed.

Exhale.

Blow out the emotions and restore the logic and order to my mind. Here. This was my salvation.

"Aw, hell. Not this again."

I opened my eyes and spun in the white surroundings, my brow furrowed. I was disconcerted to find Trip standing before me, his hands on his hips and his own discontent darkening his eyes. "I believe I told you to stay out of here."

"It's not like I did it on purpose," Trip retorted. He ran a hand over his face. "I was workin' on duty rosters. Must've fallen asleep at my desk." He cast me a pointed look. "Besides, this is _your_ mediation space. Can't you kick me out or somethin'?"

"I have not determined how," I replied.

Folding his arms, he let out an exasperated sigh, "Well, isn't that just peachy."

I studied him, taking in the sagging shoulders and shadowed eyes. Even here, he looked exhausted. "You have not been taking proper care of yourself," I observed.

He rolled his eyes. "I've already got the captain, Phlox, and even the counselor ridin' my ass about that. Don't you start."

I reached to cup his cheek in my hand, tenderness flooding through me. "I—"

Trip snapped his head away as if he'd been burned and grabbed my wrist. "Don't," he said, his tone soft.

"Trip—"

"I said don't." This time he was more forceful and insistent. "Don't be flashin' those big eyes at me and callin' me Trip. You know I can't resist when you do that."

"Then what should I call you, if not your name?" I asked, refusing to allow my hurt to surface in my voice. Instead, my tone was caustic. "Charles?"

He narrowed his eyes in his familiar withering look. "You only call me Trip when you either need my attention, or when you want to be romantic. You have my attention, and I'm not feelin' romantic right now."

I exhaled, pursing my lips. "I miss you," I said at length.

"I—" Trip began, and then cut himself off. He closed his eyes and released my hand. "T'Pol, I can't do this."

"You're unable to do what?" I asked.

"This. You and me." His eyes met mine, the blue depths pleading with me for understanding. "For months it's been back and forth and up and down. I've held you, kissed you, and loved you. And I've watched you get married, I've been called an experiment, and over and over again I've seen you run from me."

Each word tore through my katra. I yearned to slide my arms around him, to assure him I would never run again. I could make no such promise, however.

"There's only so much I can take, T'Pol. After—" he paused, swallowing to clear the catch in his voice. "After Elizabeth… I just can't handle any more."

I turned away from him. "I loved her, too," I said. "I had hoped that…"

"Me too," Trip replied. I heard his voice break and I flinched as my heart clenched. "Look, we're both hurting and I know that. I know you're as torn up as I am. This won't be something either of us gets past overnight." He hesitated. "I can't deal with that and you both right now."

"So you're saying I am on my own?"

"Sweetheart, you've made it damn clear that I'm on my own," he shot back, bitterness and anger permeating his voice. My head snapped around, stunned by the anger rolling off of him. As soon as the words were out of his mouth, I knew he wished he could take them back. Shock filled his expression and he took a step back. "I'm sorry," he murmured, chastened.

"There is no need to apologize." I lowered my gaze. "I have been distant."

"And so've I." He folded his arms over his chest. "You had this." He gestured to the white that surrounded us. "And I've had my work. We've both been finding our ways to escape."

"I haven't been a good friend to you," I murmured, folding my hands in front of me

"Friend?" Trip asked, dragging a hand through his hair. "Is that all that we are now?" He snorted and dropped his hand as he glanced away. "Maybe that's all we ever were."

"No." This time my hand found his cheek, and I pulled his face back around, forcing him to look at me. "We are so much more than that."

Silence hung between us, and I could see the conflict in his eyes. The internal struggle between his need to pull away and his desire to pull me close. In this space, I could feel every emotion roaring through him. The hurt, heartbreak, frustration, and confusion.

He licked his lips. "T'Pol," he said, hoarse. "I love you. And I I'll always love you. But I can't do this right now. I—"

Whatever was on his lips to speak next died as a thundering crash resonated around both of us. Startled, we both jumped back and looked around. "What—?" I asked.

"What the hell—?" Trip blurted. I spun around…and he was gone.

I opened my eyes, returning to my quarters in time to hear Captain Archer announce a tactical alert and a call for senior officers to report to the bridge. I blew out my candles and stood. I paused in the doorway, wiping the moisture from my cheeks before stepping out into the corridor.

* * *

><p>Travis<p>

It had been a quiet day in space. We hadn't been shot at, boarded, hailed, or infected. The engines hadn't failed. Starfleet left us alone. We hadn't had a day this quiet in so long that I found myself a little bored. The bridge crew had found small ways to keep ourselves occupied; Malcolm was once again reviewing new specs for upgraded weapons, and Hoshi had spent her time murmuring softly to herself as she tried to make sense of the Romulan language.

Which left the captain and me. I kept on a heading towards Denobula most of the day, and we were a little ahead of schedule. Mid-afternoon the captain had ordered me to change course. Just when I had gotten that punched in, he threw out another course change. And then another. After the fourth, I glanced back at him. There was a wicked glimmer in his eye and a tiny smile on his lips. I gave him a nod of understanding and spun back around to face the helm with a wide grin.

Over the next hour, he threw course changes at me rapid-fire and jumped the difficulty with each one. I flipped us over and up and down, keeping up with his increasing demands. We dropped in and out of warp so often that thirty minutes into the maneuvers Lieutenant Hess called up from Engineering and asked if there was a problem. The captain informed her we were just putting the upgraded helm system through its paces and continued his exercises. By the end, I was sweating but keeping up as Hoshi and Malcolm cheered me on.

The next thing I knew, I was on the floor with lights flashing all around me.

I had no idea what happened. One minute I was running the captain's drills, and then I was thrown from my seat as a crash echoed through the ship. Lights flashed and alerts sounded. I glanced over my shoulder as I slid back into my seat and found the captain also picking himself up off of the deck plating.

"All stop! Tactical alert!" he cried, dropping into his seat with a wince. "Senior officers to the bridge. What the hell just happened?"

I scanned the displays on the console in front of me and furrowed my brow. "I don't think it's external, Captain," I said, bewildered. "There's nothing out there."

Malcolm sounded as confused as I was. "He's right, Captain." There was a soft sequence of beeps as his fingers flew over his own console. "Whatever that was, we weren't fired upon. I can't find anything."

The turbolift doors slid open, and Commanders Tucker and T'Pol stepped onto the bridge. "What the hell is going on?" Commander Tucker demanded.

"We're still trying to figure that out," the captain replied, frustration and annoyance in his voice.

"Damage report, sir," Hoshi spoke up. "We have some damage to the hull plating on decks G and F. No breach, and no signs of fire." She paused, eyes flicking over the display. "Minor injuries reported throughout the ship. Nothing serious."

"Cancel tactical alert," Captain Archer said. He glanced up at Commander Tucker. "Well, we weren't shot at."

The commander rolled his eyes and pressed a button on a comm panel behind the captain's chair. "Commander Tucker to Lieutenant Hess."

"Go ahead," Hess' voice returned.

"Is there a problem down there, Lieutenant?" he asked, folding his arms over his chest.

"I was about to ask you the same thing, Commander," she responded. "Everything down here is running fine."

"We've got damage that needs explaining, people," the captain interjected, exasperated. "So someone figure it out."

"Captain," T'Pol's voice floated from her console. "I believe I have found the source." She glanced down at a display. "I've located a small craft approximately five

thousand kilometers off our aft bow."

"How did we miss that?" the captain asked and cast a pointed glance at both Malcolm and me.

"The ship has been powered down," she answered. "Some sort of sensor blocking field seems to be in place around it. An initial sensor sweep could have easily missed it. In fact, I almost missed it and would have if I had not seen the ship for myself."

The captain's eyes narrowed with curiosity. "Put it on screen."

A few seconds later, there was a small craft on our display screen. Small and sleek, the black metallic exterior glimmered in the starlight as it drifted through space. It appeared lifeless, no lights or movement of any kind coming from the tiny ship.

The captain glanced over his shoulder at T'Pol. "Do you recognize it?"

She studied the screen. "No," she stated. "I am unfamiliar with this design."

"Check the Vulcan database. Hoshi, open a channel," the captain instructed.

"I've tried, sir," the lieutenant responded. "There's no answer."

"It appears that this ship has been disabled for a very long time," T'Pol added.

Silence hung heavy on the bridge as we all stared at the screen. "Will it fit in our shuttlebay?" the captain asked.

"I believe so, yes," T'Pol responded.

"Then let's bring it on board. Travis, attach the grappling hooks and bring it into bay two. Trip, Malcolm," he added. "You're with me. Have a security team meet us there."

Malcolm summoned the security team, glanced at Trip, and then the two of them fell into step behind the captain as he entered the turbolift.

Across the bridge, I caught Hoshi's eye. "Are we sure this is a good idea? We've never had spectacular luck when it comes to bringing alien ships on board."

"You have your orders, Lieutenant," T'Pol said, lifting a brow.

I sighed and nodded, turning back to the console and entering commands that would put us in position to bring the ship aboard.

So much for our quiet day in space.

* * *

><p>Malcolm<p>

"Sir," I began as we made our way to the shuttlebay. "I'm not entirely sure this is the best course of action."

"For all we know, they could be in distress, Malcolm," the captain replied, stepping up to the door.

"And for all we know, this could be a clever ambush," I argued. "We have made several enemies over the years."

"Then we'll just have to be careful," he shot back. He folded his arms over his chest, giving me a cheeky grin as he waited for the bay to repressurize.

I cast Trip an exasperated glance, and he shrugged. The two of them shared a devil-may-care attitude and a penchant for making decisions that, more often than not, landed the pair of them in trouble. Those around them were time and again pulled in with them.

I had a strong suspicion that in this case that unfortunate soul would be me.

"Sir," I said as I signaled for my security team to move into position. "With all due respect, I have a feeling that my definition of 'careful' and yours are somewhat different."

"They usually are," Trip muttered as he focused on his tricorder.

My lips twitched and I maneuvered to be first through the doors. When we received clearance the bay was pressurized, the captain opened the doors. My team moved into position and surrounded the sleek, black craft as I covered the hatch. I trained my phase pistol on it, daring whoever was inside to make their presence known.

The captain held back near the door, waiting for me to signal that it was safe. Trip, however, took no such safeguards and stepped recklessly up to the ship, his attention focused on the tricorder. "Up close, I can get a few readings," he called. "They're faint, but they're there. I'm not detecting any bio signs inside." He circled the ship and gave it a frank appraisal with expert eyes. "Impressive piece of machinery," he mused.

The captain dared to step closer. He hesitated before running a hand along the cool, metallic sheen of the craft. "I've never seen anything like this."

"I haven't either, Cap'n," Trip replied. He scratched his head and squinted at the tricorder. "I don't recognize half the alloys in the hull of this thing."

I located a portal and peered inside, phase pistol still primed in my hand. "I don't see anyone at home," I said to them over my shoulder.

Almost the same size as our shuttlepods, the body of the craft was triangular in shape and had small wings jutting out of each point. A small, triangular cockpit peered out of the top. I smoothed a hand over the hull and was surprised to see remnants of a green paint clinging to the obsidian metal, peppered with scorch marks and oxidation from disuse. It appeared T'Pol had been correct. This ship had been drifting in space for a long time.

I reached for the latch on the hatch and tugged. It wouldn't open. I made several more attempts, each one more energetic than the previous. "It won't open," I announced, and gave one final tug before I relinquished my efforts.

"Lemme try," Trip said, stepping up. He, too, made several valiant efforts but had no greater success than I.

"We need to figure out who this belongs to," the captain said, peering into the cockpit. "Get it back to them."

"We'll need to get it open, first," Trip replied. "And that door's not budgin'."

"Do you know what strikes me as odd?" I mused as my gaze lingered on the phaser array mounted on the hull. "There's clearly no one inside—but I don't see a body, either."

The captain and Trip glanced at one another and then at me. "That's creepy," Trip said, shuddering.

"You two try and get the hatch open," the captain said as he suppressed a shiver. "Once we get inside, Trip, see what you can do about accessing the main computer. Maybe that will shed some light on the situation."

"Aye, sir," Trip said, pursing his lips in concentration as he considered the data on his tricorder.

I didn't respond, but stared at the gleaming black hull. I couldn't put my finger on it, but something about this ship settled a cold feeling of dread deep in my stomach. I only hoped that my instincts were wrong, and it was simply a case of my own paranoia.

"Captain," I spoke up. "May I recommend that we post a security team outside of the suttlebay? I feel it would be prudent."

He hesitated and glanced back at the ship. "That's a good idea, Lieutenant," he said. Our eyes met, and relief flooded through me when I realized that I was not alone in my concern.


	6. Chapter 5

_**Author's Note:**__ When I started writing this, I had absolutely no intention of this being a romance fic. My muse has taken me in a different and unexpected direction. So I'm going to roll with it and see where we land. My consolation is that at the very least, my T&T shippers should be a little more at ease._

_Many, many thanks to my awesome beta, Misplaced, without whom this would not have turned out as well as it did. _

_Finally, I do have a music selection for this chapter: Callie – "What Might Have Been" by Little Texas._

Chapter Five

Hoshi

"It's blue."

"Commander," Malcom said to Trip who was staring suspiciously at a mound of teal fruit sitting on his plate, "you really should try it. It's delicious."

"But it's blue," Trip insisted, as if that alone were reason enough to send it back to the kitchen.

"So are blueberries," Callie interjected, spooning a bite of the fruit into her mouth. "You eat those."

He shot her a dirty look, and she returned it with a smug smile. I hid a chuckle in my tea – or at least the Denobulan version of tea, a tad sweeter with a hint of fruity flavor. We arrived earlier that afternoon. There wasn't enough time to tour the city before the banquet.

The state dining hall was opulent, splashed with muted colors and gold trim. In many ways, it was similar to banquet rooms one might find on Earth. Several round tables had been scattered throughout the room and surrounded by high-backed chairs covered with a pale aqua fabric. The walls were a light taupe, and hung with tapestries swirled with shades of coral, aqua, and sand. Positioned on each table was a bright centerpiece of exotic, colorful plants and blooms.

I had a clear view of the head table where Captain Archer was in an animated conversation with Phlox's wife, Reesa. When the Denobulan woman leaned closer to the captain and rested a hand on his arm, I caught the lift of Callie's brow out of the corner of my eye. "Isn't that Phlox's wife?" she asked.

"Yes," I replied, sipping my tea. "Reesa, I believe."

"And is she—?" the counselor continued.

"Flirting?" Malcolm asked. "I believe so."

Callie blinked, her dark eyes lingering on the head table. "With Phlox sitting right there?"

Travis leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "Denobulans seem to have a totally different set of rules when it comes to marriage than we do."

Malcolm chuckled. "Just ask Commander Tucker." He flashed Travis a conspiratorial grin.

"I turned her down!" Trip protested, still shoving blue fruit around his plate.

Callie's snapped her gaze back to Trip. "One of his wives propositioned you?" Mirth began to sparkle in her eyes.

He glared at her, though his mouth twitched as he struggled to hide his amusement. "Shut up and eat your blue goop."

"You too," she shot back. "Quit pushing it around your plate."

"It would be impolite not to sample it," T'Pol spoke up for the first time during the meal." She captured the commander's gaze as she scooped up a small piece of the fruit with her spoon and slipped it into her mouth.

Trip watched her, an unreadable expression in his eyes. He scooped up a bite of the fruit, staring at it as if he didn't trust it.

"It sort of tastes like mango, Commander," Travis interjected.

The spoon paused midway to Trip's mouth, and he shot Travis a disbelieving glance. "Sure it does," he responded dryly.

"So, Commander," I said, inserting myself into the conversation, "have you had any luck figuring out the ship we brought aboard?"

He offered me a small grateful smile for the change of subject. "I haven't even been able to get the damned thing open," he admitted. "Whatever it's made of is almost impossible to break. It took Malcolm and me three days to come up with something that could cut through the seal on the hatch."

"What are you using?" I asked, taking a bite of the fruit.

"A phase pistol, set to kill," Malcolm replied with a grin.

"Isn't that a little dangerous?" Travis asked.

Trip shrugged. "Probably. But nothing else worked. Even the phase pistol is slow-going. We have an armory officer and an engineer trading off every few hours, but I think it's still going to be a couple days."

"I wonder where it came from," Callie mused, taking a sip of her water.

"I've completed an extensive search of the Vulcan database," T'Pol offered. "I have not found anything that even remotely matches the description of the craft."

"The most confusing part," Malcolm spoke up, "is that the ship seems to be more advanced than anything we've ever seen, yet quantum dating puts it at a hundred years old."

"A mystery," I said. "An impenetrable, dark ship floats into our path—"

"An impenetrable, dark, _creepy_ ship," Trip interjected. And after almost twenty minutes of pushing the fruit around his plate with a spoon, he lifted a bite to his mouth and chewed it thoughtfully. "Huh. Tastes like mango."

Callie snorted and grinned at Travis. "Do you hear an echo in here?"

I shushed them as a Denobulan dignitary approached a podium situated in the middle of the room. As soon as he opened his mouth, we discovered that in some regards, humans and Denobulans were similar. Over the next hour we were treated to a variety of speeches from various dignitaries and ambassadors, including our own Captain Archer. He looked uncomfortable with the task, but covered very well and said several nice things about our Doctor Phlox.

Just as Malcolm was beginning to fidget and Trip was struggling not to doze off, the podium was removed and several elaborately-dressed Denobulans filed into the room. The group contained equal number of females and males, and they formed two circles—one inside of the other—and faced each other.

Lilting music filled the room, and the two groups began to move. In and out of one another, the two circles weaved with swirl of color as they swished the capes attached to their shoulders. The smoldering looks the women offered their partners added a sensual note to the dance. But even with all of the movement and passing back and forth between one another, not once did they touch. No brush of a hand or shoulder, even by accident. It was mesmerizing. As the dance progressed, the intensity of the music increased as did the pace of the dancers. Faster and faster they moved; spinning and twirling, bobbing and weaving until the music reached a powerful crescendo and the dancers echoed with a beautiful pinnacle of the spectacular performance.

After the dance, we were treated to one more speech, and then we were dismissed. I rose and stretched, my muscles a bit stiff after sitting for so long. "Are the rest of you staying on the planet to do some sightseeing?" I asked.

Trip shook his head. "Nah. I'm not feelin' real sociable. Besides, I'd like to get back up to _Enterprise_ and see how things are goin' with that ship."

"I believe I'll be heading back too," Malcolm echoed, and glanced around. "Denobulans are a bit too gregarious for my tastes."

T'Pol, too, expressed a desire to return to the ship. Travis and Callie discussed their plans to see the city. While the three of us were comparing notes on points of interest Phlox had mentioned to us, the captain strode over to join us.

"Are you sure the rest of you don't want to stay?" he asked when he heard of our plans. Trip, Malcolm, and T'Pol all shook their heads. He nodded in understanding, and then signaled across the room. "Travis, if you could take them back to _Enterprise_, I'd appreciate it. But first, at least stay to meet Phlox's family."

I turned with a smile as Phlox approached with several Denobulans in tow. "I trust you all enjoyed the evening's entertainment," he said with a wide smile. He gestured towards the group surrounding him. "I'd like you all to meet my family," Phlox continued. "These are my wives: you've met Feezal, and this is Reesa and Janar." He went on to introduce his wives' other husbands, and their children in a flurry of names and faces that seemed to blur by faster than I could keep up with. Included was a young girl who was intently examining a small electronic toy—his granddaughter, Anaya. She appeared to be about six years old.

"It's a pleasure to meet you all," I greeted them in Denobulan, please to show off the results of Phlox's patient tutelage. They exchanged surprised glances, and then began peppering me with questions.

"It won't work!" Anaya burst out, glaring at her toy in frustration.

"Anaya," Feezal chided. "We can fix it later."

"But—" the child protested.

"Later," Phlox replied, his tone gentle but firm.

"Let me take a look at it," Trip's familiar drawl broke into the conversation. He knelt in front of Anaya and held out a hand. "If I can fix a broken warp engine, I'm pretty sure I can fix a toy."

Trip chatted with the small girl as he withdrew a tool from his pocket and began to make adjustments. After a few minutes of conversation, the Denobulans began to take their leave and Trip handed the toy back to Anaya.

"All fixed," he said with a grin. "Let me know if it breaks again."

Anaya smiled at him. "Thank you very much, Mr. Trip," she replied politely, and then scampered off after her grandmother and the rest of the family.

Trip turned away as the little girl left, but not before I caught the pain in his eyes. It hit me it hadn't been Anaya he had seen. In his mind, he was imagining a little girl who would never reach the age of six. Toys he would never repair. A life that barely had a chance to start before it ended.

His daughter, Elizabeth.

As he stood, his gaze caught T'Pol's and their shared pain seemed to radiate in waves between them. I had to turn away. I felt as though I was intruding on the private grief of parents who hardly had the chance to love their baby girl before she was taken away.

* * *

><p>Callie<p>

The first time it truly hit me I was light-years away from home was when I looked into the Denobulan sky and realized none of the stars looked the same. I had spent our first full day planetside visiting the Denobulan Medical Institute, meeting colleagues in the psychiatry department. They had been wonderful and gracious, and provided me with Denobulan psychiatric texts I planned to devour once I was back on _Enterprise_.

Once I finished dinner, I made my way back to the suite I shared with Hoshi, Travis, and the captain. It had two spacious, comfortable rooms attached on either side of a sitting room which opened onto a terrace. Decoration was Spartan, with only a few pieces of abstract art hanging on the walls. The colors of the rooms soothed me, they reminded me of Florida – corals and aquas mixed with earth tones. The design of the rooms, however, was foreign. Where humans seemed to favor square or rectangular rooms with sharp corners, Denobulans prefer rounded shapes. The rooms were circular, smooth, and seamless. Even the doorways were round. Each bedroom contained two cozy beds, which made sleeping arrangements simple: Hoshi and I shared one while the captain and Travis bunked together in the other.

Tonight I was alone. The captain was having a late dinner with Phlox and his family, and Hoshi and Travis had gone out to explore the Denobulan nightlife. They'd invited me, but I'd begged off and returned to our rooms to relax after an exciting but taxing day. Tomorrow, I promised myself, I would forget about colleagues and work and spend the day exploring the city.

Phlox had told us the city was beginning to move into its warmer season, and during the day it was balmy with a warm breeze. The night, however, still held teasing reminders of the cold weather behind, and I grabbed a small blanket off of the back of a couch to wrap around my shoulders as I admired the view from the terrace.

The buildings seemed to climb endlessly into the sky. Population was pretty dense on Denobula, and space came at a premium. Since there was no room to expand out, they expanded upwards, creating skyscrapers that made those I'd seen on Earth seem tiny. The buildings shared the same curved design as our suite and were stacked together like the rounded pipes of an old organ reaching towards the sky. I smiled as I gazed up at them and thought about how much Liz would have enjoyed the architecture.

"What are you doing out here alone?" a familiar voice broke into my reverie.

I tightened the throw around me and glanced over my shoulder at Jon with a smile. "I was just enjoying the view. And having a bit of a holy-crap-I'm-on-an-alien-planet moment."

He laughed as he stepped over to stand next to me, folding his arms on the railing and leaning on them. "I'd tell you that you get used to it after a while, but I'd be lying. You never do."

"When I was a kid, my dad used to take my twin brother, Ari, and me into the back yard at night." A fond smile tugged on my lips. "We'd stretch out side-by-side on the ground and stare up at the sky. None of my other siblings were interested, but he made sure to teach Ari and me all of the constellations." I chuckled. "He used to say, 'shoot for the moon, and if you miss, then reach out and grab a star.'" I glanced up at Jon. "How fitting it's Ari and me who are serving on starships now."

"I guess you've decided you don't mind being on _Enterprise_?" Jon asked.

"I never said I didn't want to," I retorted. "I said it was a bad idea. Despite my professional misgivings, I'm enjoying myself."

He rested a hand on my back, turned me to the right and pointed up at the sky. "Do you see that blue star?" he asked, leaning towards me for a better angle.

To my dismay, warmth flooded through me and my cheeks flushed when he drew nearer. Damn. It had been six years since we had gone our separate ways and I still felt like a giddy schoolgirl whenever I was close to Jonathan Archer. "Yes," I replied slowly. "I see it."

"Right next to it is the most beautiful, untouched planet I've ever seen. We stopped there soon after we first launched." Jon stepped back and gave a short laugh. "Too bad the air was filled with a hallucinogen. Trip came pretty close to shooting T'Pol."

"Really?" I chuckled. "They didn't get off on a great foot, did they?"

"No." He laughed as he remembered. After a moment, he sobered. "Have you made any progress with Trip?"

I cast him a pointed look. "No. And pushing him kicking and screaming into my office isn't going to help."

He sighed, dropping his head. "I know, you're right. I'm worried about him and I want to help…" He trailed off.

"When he's ready, he'll open up," I said gently. "Give him time and space."

Silence hung between us, heavy with our mutual concern for Trip. "Is it hard working so closely with him?" Jon asked.

I blinked. "No," I replied, giving him a puzzled look. "Why would it be?"

He shrugged. "I just thought… You and Trip and, well, once upon a time." He shifted, uncomfortable.

I stared at him for several minutes before I understood what he meant. And when I did, I burst out laughing. "There hasn't been a 'Trip and me' in seventeen years," I said. "That ship sailed a long, long time ago."

"I just assumed," he murmured, flushing. "You two seem so close."

"We're friends," I replied, my tone firm. "I love Trip, and I always will. And I say that with every bit of feeling that I would say, 'I love Ari.' Or Alex, or Nick." I shrugged. "I love him, but I'm not _in_ love with him."

He stared up at the stars for a long time as he seemed to digest this. I watched him, and then pulled the blanket tighter around my shoulders as I, too, shifted my gaze to the sky.

"Do you remember why we broke up?" Jon asked, catching me completely by surprise.

"As I recall," I replied, "we were both at a point in our lives where we needed to focus on our careers." I turned to face him. "But you would know better than I would. It was your idea, not mine."

"You didn't protest," he countered.

"No, I didn't," I agreed. "You were gunning to be captain of the _Enterprise_. I knew if you got it and had to make a choice between me and her, I would lose. So why fight the inevitable?"

"I suppose it was inevitable…then."

I paused, twisting my head around to look at him. "What do you mean, 'then'?"

"Do you ever miss me?" he asked, leaning on the railing and gazing at me with small smile.

I opened my mouth to answer. It was on the tip of my tongue to say I did. Not a day went by that I didn't miss him, think about him, remember the feel of his arms or the taste of his lips. But damn it, he had been the one to walk away. So while my heart wanted to say yes, of course I've missed you, a little rebellious voice in my head refused to give him the satisfaction.

So I closed my mouth. I shifted my gaze to the moon, hanging huge over the impressive Denobulan capital city. I stood silent for several minutes and let him stew as I contemplated the safest answer.

"I'd be lying if I said I didn't," I decided to say.

Jon reached out and laid his hands on my shoulders, turning me to face him. "Callie—" he began, but as soon as my name passed his lips he was cut off by the sound of Hoshi's voice calling through the suite.

"Captain!"

He pulled back like a teenager who'd been caught making out behind the school gymnasium. "Out here, Hoshi," he called back.

If she noticed his flushed cheeks when she stuck her head out the door, she didn't say so. "Captain, Commander T'Pol has been trying to reach you."

A chagrined look crossed Jon's face as he slid his hands over his pockets. "I must have left my communicator at Phlox's house earlier. What's going on?"

It was then I noticed Hoshi's pale face. Travis appeared behind her with a stricken expression of his own. "We need to return to the _Enterprise_," she said. "Crewmen Summerfield and Rostov were working on the alien craft, and there was some sort of accident." She paused, eyes wide. "Sir, Rostov is in sickbay. And Summerfield." Hoshi swallowed hard. "Summerfield is dead."

The color drained from Jon's face and a wave of shock washed over me. Instinctively, I took his arm to steady him.

"Travis, get the shuttlepod ready to return to the ship," Jon ordered as he broke my grip on his arm and strode past Hoshi and Travis. "We're leaving in fifteen minutes. Now move."


	7. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

Phlox

The single most difficult task a physician must perform is the completion of a death certificate.

I had settled down for a rather intimate moment with my wife, Feezal, when the captain informed me of the accident on the _Enterprise_. Given the emergency situation, I was teleported aboard while the captain and the remainder of the senior staff on the planet's surface followed in the shuttlepod. I detested having to use the transporter, but it couldn't be helped.

When I arrived, I found sickbay in a state of chaos. Crewman Rostov was in the imagining chamber. My medical assistants were attempting to make sense of the readouts. I ordered them out of the way and began my own assessment of the situation.

Rostov appeared to be comatose, just as I had been advised by Captain Archer. I was astonished by the scans. One would expect to see suppressed neural activity in his condition. Instead, the neural synapses were firing at an astounding rate. In particular, the amygdalae within his medial temporal lobes were accelerated at an alarming level. If he were awake, his emotional responsiveness would be out of control.

Perhaps it was a blessing in disguise he was inexplicably in a coma.

Since Rostov and Summerfield had been the only two present in the shuttlebay when the incident had occurred, we had no real facts to substantiate what had happened. To ensure no other members of the crew fell to such a fate, the captain ordered the alien craft be quarantined. Lieutenant Reed supported this decision, while Commander Tucker heatedly argued against it. His rationalization was they could not investigate unless they had full access.

The scientist in me agreed with Commander Tucker. He and Commander T'Pol needed all information possible to determine with any certainty what had occurred. However, considering the fact I was now performing an autopsy on a young man in the prime of his life, I was also inclined to support Captain Archer's edict.

It was decided the incident should not entirely end my visit with family. I completed a thorough examination of Crewman Rostov and determined there was little to be done but monitor his condition and wait. Counselor Agroterra was capable of serving as acting physician, and would notify me in the event of any change in his condition.

As to the autopsy on Crewman Summerfield… The counselor had not done the procedure since medical school, and she felt inadequate to the task. Besides, I had known the crewman. He had been with us since Enterprise launched four years ago; he'd survived our mission in the Expanse.

I needed to do the autopsy myself. He deserved as much from me.

Part way into my investigation, I became lost in the familiar routine of scrutinizing every component of the body. The cardio-pulmonary system. Digestive system. Cellular composition. The skeletal and muscular systems. The nervous systems.

Aha. As in the case of Rostov, it was in the neural pathways of Crewman Summerfield I found the sole anomaly. When I discovered the discrepancy, I took a step back and re-examined the results three more times before I was convinced of what I was seeing. I blinked, removed my gloves, and stepped over to the comm unit on a nearby wall.

"Doctor Phlox to Counselor Agroterra."

Her voice floated through the channel a moment later. "Go ahead, Doctor."

"Could you please come to sickbay for a moment? I would like you to take a look at something."

"Of course." There was a note of surprise in her tone. "I'll be right down."

Moments later, she appeared in the doorway. "What can I do for you?"

"I would like you to review these scans I took during Crewman Summerfield's autopsy." I handed her a PADD. "I generally don't question my own assessment, but in this case… Let's just say I would like your feedback."

Her brow furrowed as she scanned the PADD. I knew the instant she had reached my findings in the nervous system because her eyes widened. "This can't be right."

"I ran the scans three times."

"His neural pathways were completely fried." Her fingertips flew over the screen as she attempted to make sense of what she was reading. "It's as if—"

"Something generated a chemical reaction so intense it overloaded the neural synapses. Yes, I know." I circled behind her and studied the still form of Crewman Summerfield. "Counselor, I consider myself an experienced and open-minded man of science and medicine. But I have never seen anything quite like this in my entire career. I was wondering…have you?"

She shook her head. "I haven't, no." Her gaze, too, shifted to Summerfiled as she absently tapped the PADD against her palm. "We have to tell the captain."

"Obviously," I replied, grim. "And recommend we get rid of that alien craft."

* * *

><p>Trip<p>

The whole situation had shaken me more than I'd care to admit. Rostov was on my crew, and a damned good engineer. He didn't deserve to be lying in sickbay. If it had happened only an hour earlier, it would have been me instead. And it should have been. I'd known we were close to breaking the hatch open and had tried to convince Malcolm to stay on and continue, but he argued it could still be hours. After a while, I got tired of fighting with him and agreed to turn the process over to Summerfield and Rostov.

And now one was dead. The other? Not even Phlox could tell us what was going to happen.

When the doc requested a senior staff meeting, heasked it be held in sickbay. The very thought turned my stomach. I hadn't been back in that room since Elizabeth died, and the only way I'd go there was unconscious. When I expressed my displeasure to the captain, he asked Phlox to move the meeting to the conference room instead. The doc was reluctant, but he agreed.

This time I made sure to sit next to Malcolm. I spun my chair around backwards and straddled it, resting my arms over the back. The tension in the room was so thick you could have cut it. At the head of the table, Phlox, Callie, and the captain were gathered in a small group, talking so low I couldn't make out what they were saying. Judging from their sour expressions, it wasn't good.

The captain turned towards the rest of us and took a deep breath. "Phlox has had a chance to complete an—" His voice caught. He took the death of anyone under his command personally, and this had to be weighing on him. "An autopsy on Crewman Summerfield. His findings… Well, I'll let Phlox go over it."

The doc stepped forward, his hands folded in front of him. Behind him, Callie switched on a display and a scan appeared on the screen. "My initial examination of Crewman Summerfield was unremarkable. Most of his internal organs and systems showed no signs of trauma or damage." He paused and glanced at the screen. "That is, until I reached his neurological system. To be frank, I was so startled by what I found in his neural pathways, I consulted with the counselor for a second opinion."

I exchanged a glance with Malcolm, my own tension reflected in his eyes. Phlox never asked for second opinions. "What did you find, Doc?" I ventured.

"To put it simply, Commander, it was as if every neural pathway in the Crewman's grey matter had been fused."

I raised both brows almost to my hairline. "Fused?"

"The best comparison I can give you, Trip, is it looked like a conduit that someone had pumped too much plasma through," Callie interjected. She clicked a button on the display, and it flashed to another picture. "It literally looks as if every pathway in his brain was fried."

I let out a long slow breath and grabbed the table to steady myself. My crewmates had similar shell-shocked expressions on their faces as we glanced at one another.

"What about Rostov?" I managed to ask.

"Crewman Rostov's neural pathways are showing an extreme amount of activity—an astounding amount for a man in his condition—but none of the damage Crewman Summerfield had," Phlox replied.

The captain closed his eyes. "T'Pol, do we have internal sensor data that can give us a clue of what happened?"

Across the table, T'Pol picked up a PADD. "It appears once the alien craft we brought on board several days ago was opened, a phenomenon occurred that left the crewmen in their present conditions."

I shot her a dark look. Present conditions: comatose and dead. _Why can't you just say it?_

She ignored me. "I do not yet have sufficient data to determine what transpired. I will require more time."

The captain nodded. "I want you to be as thorough as possible, T'Pol. Trip, help her increase power to the internal sensors if need be. Whatever it takes."

"Cap'n, with all due respect, I could get this done a lot faster if you'd just let me get my hands on that craft." I lifted my eyes to his. "We can play around with the sensors all day, but sometimes you've gotta go the extra mile."

"Absolutely not, Trip." He shook his head. "I won't have you putting your safety at risk until we know what we're dealing with."

"So it's okay for crewmen to put their lives on the line, but not senior officers." I was standing by now, hands planted on the tabletop. Anger heated my cheeks, and my heart pounded in my head. "It should have been Malcolm and me in there, not Rostov and Summerfield."

"Trip—" Malcolm tried to interject, but I cut him off.

"No, we should have been," I spat. "We were the senior officers. It should have been us." A stab of guilt sliced through me when I caught the look on his face. I knew he felt guilty, too. Summerfield had been on his crew. But dammit, I couldn't seem to stop myself.

"Trip." Callie decided to get involved then. She caught my eye, and satisfied she had my attention, she continued. "No one blames you for what happened."

The flush in my cheeks deepened, and the blood pounding in my ears became nearly deafening. "I never said anyone did." The words came out of my mouth in almost a hiss.

Callie lifted a brow in surprise. "Obviously you were thinking it."

"Don't be puttin' words in my mouth, _Counselor_." I leaned closer. "You have no idea what's goin' on in my head."

"No, I don't." She closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead. "Tucker, everyone else on this ship might tiptoe around you and walk on eggshells, but I sure as hell will not. You need to take a step back, calm down, and listen to your captain." Her own cheeks were flushed, eyes flashing. "He's doing his job and trying to make sure you don't end up occupying the bed next to Crewman Rostov."

I was aware the others were shifting uncomfortably and looking everywhere but at Callie and me. I was past the point of caring.

"Of course you'd defend _him_," I shot back. "You never—"

"That's enough!" The captain shouted, slamming his hands down on the table to get our attention. "Both of you!"

I jumped, snapping my eyes to his. Over the years, I'd heard the captain give several dressings-down. In fact, I had been the on the receiving end of more than a few, but I'd never heard him use quite that tone of voice. I glanced at Callie, who'd dropped her gaze. I exhaled sharply with exasperation, glowering at the captain unapologetically.

"The shuttlebay will remain sealed until further notice." The captain gave the order in a low voice that demanded obedience. "Malcolm, I don't care if Admiral Gardner himself strolls onto this ship, no one touches that craft. Is that understood, Lieutenant?"

"Yes, Sir," Malcolm murmured.

"Trip," the captain continued, pinning a glare on me. "Work with T'Pol on gathering sensor data. When we have a better understanding of what's going on, then I'll decide where we go next."

"Fine." I snapped to attention. "If I'm dismissed, then I'll go down to Engineering and work on increasin' the damn sensor input."

He seemed to debate on saying something else, but finally sighed. "Dismissed."

Without another word, I stalked out of the room.

* * *

><p>Jon<p>

Hours later, the confrontation with Trip still hung heavy on my mind. After the staff meeting, I sequestered myself in my ready room. No one bothered me, and I suspect there was a silent understanding I was to be interrupted in an emergency situation.

I was worried, upset, and disheartened by the argument in the conference room. My concern for Trip was growing, and I felt helpless on how to deal with it. Callie continued to assure me if I gave him time, he'd come around. But how much time was enough? The longer I gave him, the more he seemed to deteriorate. The situation with Rostov and Summerfield hadn't helped.

I sighed, leaning back in my desk chair. More than anything, I missed my best friend. I would love to drag him in for a beer and a water polo match, but every time I'd tried to just talk to him I'd gotten the cold shoulder. He was retreating deeper into himself, and I had no idea how to pull him out.

The door chime rang, and I glanced at the chronometer on my desk. It was late, and I supposed I had kept the crew at bay long enough. I couldn't wallow in self-pity and worry forever. "Come in."

To my surprise, it was Callie who stepped through the door, two mugs in her hands. "Hey," she greeted me. "I wanted to let you know Phlox has returned to the planet. He said he'll check in tomorrow."

I dropped my feet from my desktop and sat up in my chair. "You could have paged me to tell me that. What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same question." She sat on the edge of my desk and handed me a mug. "Even the captain needs sleep sometimes."

I glanced briefly into the mug and smiled, touched that Callie remembered I took my coffee with cream. "I had a lot on my mind." I took a sip of the rich liquid.

"I know." Concern and sympathy shone in her eyes. "You're worried about Trip."

"Callie, I've never seen him like this." I took another deep drink and set the mug aside. "He's shutting everyone out no matter how hard we try to reach out to him."

"I've never seen this side of him, either," she admitted. "I keep thinking time and space will heal all wounds, but instead he seems to be getting worse."

I fell silent, picking my mug back up and staring into it. "Do you think I should relieve him of duty until he pulls himself together?"

She sighed and gazed at the ceiling. "I don't even know, Jon. I wish I had a magical answer that would solve everything, but I don't."

"Have you been down to see him since this afternoon?"

Callie shook her head. "I will tomorrow, and I'll apologize for poking the bear." Her dark eyes rolled in response to my pointed look. "Look, I was not brought on board this ship for the sole purpose of babysitting Trip Tucker. The last time I checked, he's a grown man and can—for the most part—take care of himself. There are other members of this crew I'm responsible for."

"Such as?" I asked, my tone sardonic.

"Such as the captain." She drained her mug and set it on the edge of the desk. "How are you doing?"

I averted my eyes, suddenly taken with Denobula in the viewport. "I'm okay."

"No you're not." A soft sigh escaped her lips. "You're thinking about the letter you have to write to a family back on Earth. You're worried about Rostov, and you're terrified you've lost your best friend. Jonathan, you're not okay."

My eyes snapped back to her. It was rare for Callie to call me that, an act that in our history together she had reserved for more tender moments. I swallowed hard and leaned forward, resting my elbows on my thighs. "Trip thinks this is his fault, but it's not. This is my fault." I closed my eyes and sighed. "I should have listened to Malcolm."

"You had no idea this would happen," she argued quietly. "You did what you thought was best."

"And a young man paid the price for my decision with his life. Another might still."

Her hand hesitated and flexed before she reached up and touched my cheek. "As I said to Trip earlier, no one blames you."

I bit my lower lip. "I blame myself."

Indecision and conflict rolled off of her as she studied me, but finally she moved her hand to my shoulder. "You need to get some rest." A faint smile tugged at her lips. "Go to your quarters, curl up with your dog, and sleep."

My hand covered hers. "What if it's not the dog I want?"

Callie pulled her hand back and turned away. "Jon…" She trailed off, gathering her thoughts. "I'm not going to jump into bed with you because either one of us is needy or because it's convenient. We both deserve better than that."

Though her tone was gentle, the comment struck me hard. "Now wait a minute—"

She held up a hand. "I can't, Jon." Her eyes pleaded with me. "You broke my heart once. I can't go through that again."

I was stunned. For a long time, I stared at her as her words sunk in. I narrowed my eyes. "Hold on." It was more of a command than a request. "You said you were okay with it when we ended things."

Callie hopped down from the desk and strode over to the portal, peering out into space. "I said I understood. I never said I was okay with it." She rested her head against the window. "Did you know when you first got this assignment five years ago I made the suggestion that deep-space vessels needed a ship's counselor?"

I paused. "No," I replied, the implication tightening my throat.

Pushing away from the bulkhead, she turned to me with a tight smile. "I did. It took a while, but Starfleet finally listened." She went to the door, hesitating with her hand over the release. "I never said I wanted to be the center of your world. I always knew I never would be. I just wanted to be part of it."

I felt like I'd been punched in the stomach. "Callie—"

"Get some sleep, Jonathan," she said, refusing to turn around. "I'll see you in the morning."


	8. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

_T'Pol_

Though I would not admit this to him, most of the time my bond with Trip was a pleasure. His constant presence in the back of my mind was a source of comfort in the days following Terra Prime. My sense of humor improved, a fact that had been commented upon by Captain Archer. I attributed that entirely to Trip's influence.

However, there were also detriments to the bond. When Trip was in pain, I experienced it through him. My emotions became more difficult to suppress. My control had already been compromised by exposure to Trellium D, and Trip's sometimes volatile emotions could overwhelm me. While I noticed my influence had caused him to become more logical and thoughtful, I also found that his made me more unbridled.

And then there were days in which our bond made me regret my people had long ago eradicated our more violent tendencies.

I followed the captain's orders and began investigating the accident in Shuttlebay Two, which had taken the life of Crewman Summerfield. I had only the internal sensors to assist in my investigation which made the situation more difficult, but not impossible. Visual sensors in the shuttlebay revealed nothing extraordinary. The two men opened the hatch to the craft, and both dropped to the deck plating. There had been no explosion, flash of light, or any other anomaly to explain what they had experienced. Both let out a brief cry of what seemed to be pain, and then it was over.

I spent hours analyzing the sensor readouts from the time surrounding the event. I studied radiation levels, ion sweeps, and biological analysis. The only irregularity was a discrepancy in the biological sensors, and it was obviously a glitch in the system. After several unsuccessful attempts to clear the error from the data, I asked Trip to repair malfunctioning sensors.

It was late at night, and the bridge was quiet. Only a skeleton crew was on duty, and Trip and I were alone at my science station. He spent nearly an hour grumbling to himself as he checked the equipment again and again, his irritation increasing my own tension.

At the end of his muttered tirade, he stood and tossed a hyperspanner on the floor in frustration. "T'Pol, I can't find a damn thing wrong with those sensors."

I raised a brow, exhaled, and then pursed my lips. "Commander, it is unlikely there were six Summerfields and two Rostovs in the shuttlebay at the time of the accident. The sensors are not working properly."

Trip closed his eyes and ran his hand through his hair. "Have you tried running a sensor sweep of the room now?"

"Of course I have. However, there are no biological life forms in the shuttlebay at this time. Performing a sweep of the room would be pointless."

"Another damn good reason we need in that shuttlebay." Trip folded his arms over his chest and sighed. "Run a sweep of the bridge."

"I fail to see—"

"Humor me, T'Pol."

I considered pressing the issue but decided that it would be fruitless. I would, as he said, humor him. I turned my back on him as I entered the commands into my console. I could feel a headache building in the back of my neck. I closed my eyes found myself regretting the decision to call for Trip. I should have waited another hour when Lieutenant Hess would be on duty instead. Being near Trip was painful and draining.

When the results of the sensor sweep came up on my screen I read it over and then turned to him. "The sensors indicate there are three Commander Tuckers on the bridge at this moment." My brow lifted. "I only see one. Fortunate, as I'm not sure the crew is equipped to handle more than one at this time."

He cast a glare in my direction and then turned to view the readouts. "Oh, look. There are two T'Pols on the bridge, too. That can't be true, because the universe can't handle that much stubborn arrogance."

Hurt flooded to the surface almost before I could suppress it. Silent, I turned back and focused on making sense of the erroneous information.

Behind me, I heard Trip sigh. "I'm sorry," he said with genuine remorse. "I don't know what's wrong with me these days."

I glanced at the rest of the night crew, concerned that our conversation was drawing attention. "I believe part of the problem is that you're exhausted." That much was evident to anyone who so much as glanced at him. I felt tenderness well up within me, and I folded my hands in my lap to resist the instinct to reach out and soothe him.

He squatted next to me to examine relays under my station. "I haven't been sleeping well." He refused to look at me."

I watched him for a long time. "We could resume neuropressure sessions. That helped you to sleep before."

"No." Trip winced at his sharp tone, but he kept his eyes on the relays. "I don't think that's a good idea." He rubbed his forehead with the back of his hand. "I'll be fine. I just have a lot of my mind."

Silence. "Is it Elizabeth?" I ventured, my voice little more than a murmur.

Pain flashed through his eyes just before he closed them and rested his head on the edge of my console. "Oh, T'Pol…" He paused to gather his composure. "It's Elizabeth. You. Lizzie. The Cap'n. Sim. My parents." His eyes opened and he finally looked up at me. "Take your pick."

I felt his pain and conflict through our bond, and fought to suppress it as it tangled with my own anguish. "You know you have many people on this ship who care about you and are willing to help you." I paused, staring at my hands as the small face of our daughter passed through my mind. "I am here for you, Trip."

"You know, I'm getting' real tired of hearing that." Trip's voice rose, drawing the attention of the others nearby. He glanced around, his cheeks reddening, and growing quieter, continued. "Why is everyone so convinced I can't handle this on my own?"

"Because you have been insufferable to live with these past few weeks."

I didn't know what prompted me to voice the errant thought in the back of my mind, but it was out before I could stop it. I immediately regretted it when I saw the hurt in his gaze. We stared at each other until he reached down, retrieved his hyperspanner, and stood.

"Since I'm so 'insufferable,' I'll take myself down to Engineering and start Hess on some intensive diagnostics to find out what's wrong with your precious bio sensors. I'll let you know what we find out tomorrow." He started towards the turbolift

"Trip, wait—"

"Good night, Commander," he replied without turning around. I watched him disappear into the turbolift, anger and hurt radiating from him.

I exhaled slowly and stared at the sensor readings, though my mind would not process what I was seeing. Instead, I replayed the conversation with Trip in my mind. When I accepted there was little I could do that night about Trip or the sensors, I closed out the readings and turned the bridge over to the night officer on duty.

For several minutes I waited for the turbolift to return to the bridge, and when it did, I stepped inside. Once the doors were closed I sagged against the wall and closed my eyes. My emotions were so raw and close to the surface, and I desperately needed to meditate.

I was helpless to do anything for Trip. Not for lack of desire. I could feel the waves of pain radiating off of him, and the intensity of it both startled and worried me. But any attempt I made to reach out to him was rebuffed. Aside from myself, I knew he was holding the captain and Lieutenant Reed – two of his closest friends – at arm's length.

I rubbed my temples and made note to visit Dr. Phlox in the morning if the throbbing in my head hadn't subsided. As the thought passed through my mind, I paused. Phlox was no longer the only medical professional on board. I hesitated to enlist the assistance of the ship's counselor because I was unsure how I felt about her apparent connection to Trip's past. Though I loathed to admit it, there was a certain amount of insecurity where she was concerned. Still, perhaps the connection would explain Trip's unstable mental state.

As I exited the turbolift and made my way to my quarters, I reasoned through the situation, weighing all of my options. Holding onto jealousy and pride would be illogical.

It was time I visited the counselor.

* * *

><p><em>Callie<em>

I was pretty sure at least half the ship had gone mad.

In the first few weeks I spent on board the _Enterprise_, the crew was somewhat reluctant to accept the services of a ship's counselor. I expected that and had been prepared for it. Over time, the ship's population grew to accept me, and I began seeing patients. But my daily appointments averaged two, three on a busy day. Slow, but it was a start.

Today, I had seen six. And it wasn't even noon.

I had a rip-roaring headache, and as I worked my way through sessions, I grew impatient with those I counseled. That wasn't like me. Worse yet, I had no idea why, which only caused me to be irritated with myself. It was a vicious cycle I needed to put an end to if I was going to survive the afternoon.

I took a swallow of the coffee sitting on my desk and made up my mind to see Phlox about something for the headache when my door chimed. I groaned and slumped in my seat, pressing my fingertips to the corners of my eyes. "Come in," I called, forcing myself to sit up straight and look interested.

The last person I ever expected to see darkening my door stepped into the room: Commander T'Pol. My brow rose, and I set down my cup. "Commander. This is a surprise. Please." I gestured to the empty seat across my desk. "Sit down."

Though she appeared serene and emotionless, something in her demeanor—maybe a glimmer in her eye or the way she held herself—told me she was uncomfortable. She sat rather stiffly in the chair. "I hope I'm not intruding."

"Not at all," I assured her. "I'm between patients." I studied her, trying to gain some clue about what brought her to me. "What can I do for you?"

T'Pol didn't answer right away, and I could almost see the wheels turning in her mind. "It's difficult for me to come to you for assistance. For a multitude of reasons."

I reached for my cup. "I don't bite," I said lightly.

Confusion passed through her eyes. "I wasn't under the impression you do, Counselor."

"No, no." I laughed. "It's an expression." Folding my arms on my desk, I leaned forward. "So what's on your mind?"

She hesitated. "It's obvious you and Commander Tucker share a past," she began.

Inwardly, I groaned. _It always comes back to Trip, doesn't it?_

"I was wondering," she continued, looking ill-at-ease, "how well do you know him?"

"I used to know him pretty well." Distant memories brought a smile to my lips. "We grew up together. Went our separate ways after high school graduation, but there are very few major events from my childhood that don't involve Trip Tucker." My head tilted as I gave her a considering look. "Why do you ask?"

"I am concerned about him." A troubled expression entered her gaze. "He seems distant, and agitated." T'Pol folded her arms across her lap. "He and I became engaged in a heated discussion last night over malfunctioning biological sensors. While it is not unusual for us to disagree, the personal nature our discussion took was unsettling."

I pondered her words as I picked up my cup and lifted it to my lips. The discussion I'd had with Jon the day he came to ask me to take this position drifted through my mind. He'd said T'Pol wouldn't come to me. If I thought about it, I supposed he was right. She wasn't coming to me about her own feelings; she was coming to me about Trip's.

Or was she?

"It's not a secret Trip…" I trailed off, searching for the right words. "Hasn't been himself," I said, choosing the diplomatic route. "That's a large part of the reason the captain asked me to take this posting. He was concerned about Trip and thought I might be able to help, given our history together."

T'Pol studied me for so long it began to feel as if her gaze were penetrating through me. "Counselor, I have a somewhat intrusive question, if you don't mind my asking." Her tone was careful. "What is the nature of your history with Commander Tucker?"

Something in the intensity of her stare gave me pause. I licked my lips and met her gaze. "What are you asking, Commander?" I brought my cup up for another sip.

"Were you and the Commander intimate?"

I choked on the coffee. Coughing and sputtering, I gaped at her. "That's an awfully damn personal question."

"Perhaps. But an applicable question." Her brow raised. "If you had been, it would be inappropriate for you to be serving as his counselor."

Closing my eyes, I rubbed my forehead. "Damn you, Jon," I muttered under my breath. I knew this was going to come up. I'd told him as much. Exhaling, I opened my eyes fixed a level gaze on her. "For Pete's sake, yes." Her slight flinch caught me off-guard, but I continued. "But it was a long, long time ago."

"I see." T'Pol fell silent, a thoughtful expression on her face. I gave her the chance to mull it over, all the while a sinking ball of dread congealing in my gut. "You know I should report this conflict of interest to Starfleet."

_Good thing she doesn't know about me and Jon,_ I thought. "We were kids. Childhood sweethearts. It's been over between Trip and me for almost a lifetime now." I stood, turning away from her as I gathered my conflicted thoughts. "More than we were ever lovers, Trip and I were best friends. The captain thought having an old friend to lend an ear would help him come to terms with whatever is bothering him."

"So your presence on _Enterprise_ has nothing to do with a desire to rekindle an old flame?" she asked, the hostile undercurrent in her tone taking me by surprise.

I pushed aside an errant thought of the captain and turned my head to watch her over my shoulder. "Is that what this is about? If that was the reason I was here, what would it matter to you—?" I stopped and spun the rest of the way around. Understanding crashed down on me hard and fast, and I felt like the universe's biggest idiot. "Oh."

For the briefest moment T'Pol looked like kid with her hand in a cookie jar. As quickly as the expression fell over her features, she regained control and again became impassive. She glanced away, uncomfortable with the line of questioning.

Sighing, I dropped back into my chair. "Look, let's cut to the chase and talk about what this is really about." I caught her eye and kept it, my gaze intense and serious. "I have absolutely no interest in rekindling whatever it was Trip and I had when we were teenagers. I'm here partly because I care about him and am worried about him, and partly because the captain asked me to be. That's it."

"Are you certain?"

"I have never been more sure of anything in my entire life." I leaned back in my chair, pressing my fingers together in front of me. "Is that why you came down here?"

Her gaze dropped. "I assumed as time passed he would come to terms with all that has happened. Instead, he seems to be more upset. I thought, perhaps, that was because of you."

"For whatever it's worth, he's barely speaking to me. I've had maybe four conversations with him since we left dry dock." I hesitated to voice my next thought, but I decided it had to be said. "The captain told me about the baby."

I could feel the tension in the room rise. "He shouldn't have done that."

"If I was going to help Trip, I needed to know." Idly, I reached out and toyed with the seashell on my desk. "Thing about humans and grief is we don't have a set formula or protocol for it. Everyone mourns in their own way and at their own pace. Trip has always worn his emotions on his sleeve. So, apparently, his way of dealing with grief is to throw hyperspanners and growl at anyone with the audacity to speak to him."

"Or kick power cells down a corridor." T'Pol's voice was so soft I almost couldn't make out what she said. "You have been unable to help him." It was more of a statement than a question.

"I can only help him if he wants me to." I shrugged. "He's made it clear he doesn't."

"So what will happen?"

"Psychiatry isn't an exact science. It deals with individual personalities. So I can't make an exact prediction when and how he'll move past this." I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. "But knowing Trip as well as I do, my guess is he will either come to terms with it on his own or crack under the pressure."

Something akin to outrage glimmered under the calm surface of her eyes. "And you can do nothing to stop this?"

"All _we_," I stressed the word, "can do is be there to catch him if and when he cracks." I blew out a frustrated breath. "And we deal with the repercussions in the meantime. Trip just isn't very adept at suppressing his emotions. He lets them stew and simmer until they explode."

"He once told me he envied the Vulcan ability to suppress our emotions." T'Pol twisted her fingers in her lap. "Perhaps humans are the ones to be envied."

Though I always logically knew it, that moment was the first time it truly sank in that T'Pol, too, had lost a child. My heart ached for her, and I resisted the impulse to reach out and squeeze her hand. It was a very human gesture I knew wouldn't be well received.

"Vulcans don't have the market cornered on suppressing emotions," I said instead. "Humans are good at it too."

The look she shot me made it clear she had a very dubious opinion of that statement.

I chuckled. "No, I'm serious. We humans resist our baser thoughts, feelings, and urges all the time." I smiled. "If we acted on every single errant idea crossed our minds, we'd be little more than the savages some Vulcans seem to think we are."

T'Pol tilted her head in consideration. "Perhaps." She lifted her brow at me. "You sound as if you speak from experience."

"Experience with suppressing emotions?" Before I had the chance to shove it aside, Jon's face flashed through my mind, and I swallowed hard. Somehow, I managed a weak smile. "Every damn day."


	9. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

_Phlox_

After three nights with my family on Denobula, I decided it would be best to return to _Enterprise_ and relieve Counselor Agroterra. Though I knew she was willing to see to Crewman Rostov indefinitely, I could see my return was a relief. I was surprised by how busy she had been in my absence. It seemed a great deal of the crew had been experiencing emotional distress and had sought her counsel. She was glad to be useful, but the sheer number of crewmembers she had seen was nearly overwhelming. The exhaustion was evident in her face, and so I sent her to bed.

I rather enjoy _Enterprise_ at night. Because I require much less sleep than humans, I am often left in solitude, and it gives me a chance to reflect after a busy day. I have time to run more extensive tests on my patients when I'm not constantly being interrupted by plasma burns and other incidental injuries. And I have time to feed my little menagerie, who often are my only company in the wee hours.

On this particular night, I was reviewing my autopsy of Crewman Summerfield. I consulted with T'Pol earlier in the evening and she told me she hadn't yet found a cause for the young man's unfortunate fate. I was certain I hadn't missed anything, but to humor her, I agreed to give it a second look. I was in the middle of a review of Summerfield's limbic system when the doors to sickbay slid open and Hoshi stepped through.

She was dressed in a casual sweatshirt and her hair was pulled back. However, my eyes were immediately drawn to the furrow of her brow and the hand resting on her temple.

"Hoshi. Shouldn't you be sleeping?" I asked as I fed my immunocytic gel worm.

"I had a weird dream and now a blistering headache." She rubbed her forehead.

"What was the dream about?" I reached for my medical equipment.

A small smile fell over her face. "I dreamt Ambassador Soval ran off and married Amanda Cole from the MACO's."

I paused and glanced at her over my shoulder. "That seems like an unlikely couple."

"You would think so, but somehow it worked." She shot me a pointed look. "Can you give me something for the headache so I can go back to sleep?"

"I wouldn't be any kind of physician if I didn't first examine you to find the source of the headache." I ignored her eye-roll and and scanned her with my tricorder.

I grunted with disgust, prompting Hoshi to frown. "Problem?"

"This tricorder has been malfunctioning all evening," I grumbled. "According to this, there are two of you. And you both have some increased blood flow in the medial cortex, which would explain the headache you describe." I sighed and put away the tricorder. "However, I've observed the same phenomenon in several crewmembers this evening, and it doesn't yet seem to be life-threatening. We will keep watch." I turned to locate a hypospray of analgesic and muttered to myself, "And hope we get rid of that strange craft as soon as possible."

I moved to inject her with the analgesic but paused when I found her staring at the tricorder with a thoughtful expression. "Hoshi?"

"When you scanned me with the tricorder, it said there were two of me?"

"Yes. I'll have to get Commander Tucker to give it a look tomorrow. It's been giving me that same erroneous reading all day."

When she shifted her gaze from the medical instrument to me, I could almost see the thoughts spinning in her mind. "Commander T'Pol has been experiencing the same problem with the ship's bio-sensors. Is it possible—?"

"Possible the erroneous readings are connected?" While the ship's sensors were not as detailed as the medical tricorder, they scanned many of the same biological readings and feedback. I mulled that over as I pressed the hypospray to her neck. "Certainly. The readings could be caused by a variety of phenomenon, and it could very well be something inconsequential. Still…" I trailed off and tapped the hypospray against my hand. "I should discuss this with Commander T'Pol."

"I think that's a good idea," Hoshi agreed.

I could see a mixture of curiosity and trepidation in her eyes. I gave her a reassuring smile and stepped over to the comm panel and pushed the button. "Phlox to T'Pol."

"Go ahead," she replied a moment later.

"I'm sorry to disturb you so late, but I was wondering if you could come to sickbay for a moment?" I glanced over at Hoshi, who was gripping the edge of the biobed. "There's something Hoshi and I would like you to see."

"On my way."

When the commander arrived a few minutes later, I was unable to tell if we had disrupted her sleep or not. She was fully dressed, her hands laced behind her back as she entered the room.

"Commander," I said by way of a greeting. "We made a discovery we thought you might like to see."

I handed her my medical tricorder, and she raised a brow as she began reading it, question in her eyes. Seconds later, her gaze snapped back up to mine. "This indicates there are two Lieutenant Satos in sickbay."

"But there is clearly just one." I nodded towards the device in her hands. "Hoshi indicated you were experiencing a similar problem with the ship's bio sensors?"

T'Pol nodded. "Commander Tucker has had his engineering team putting in extra shifts to determine the cause." She fixed her eyes on the data displayed on the screen in her hand. "It appears he was correct—the problem is not with the sensors themselves."

"Something is interfering with the sensors." Hoshi appeared somewhat anxious. "Maybe something from the alien craft we took on board?"

"We don't have enough information to make that conclusion," T'Pol replied. "Still, I'll discuss it with the captain in the morning." She handed the tricorder back to me. She seemed preoccupied with her own thoughts and speculations. "Thank you for bringing this to my attention."

"Not a problem, Commander," I replied.

She nodded to us both, her brow furrowed thoughtfully. And then, hands again laced behind her, she turned and exited sickbay.

"Do you know what the worst part of this is going to be for her?" Hoshi asked.

"What's that?"

The lieutenant licked her lips and struggled against a smile. "She and Commander Tucker have had no less than three arguments—that I'm aware of—over those sensors in the last three days. If he was right and the sensors are fine, he will never let her hear the end of it."

* * *

><p><em>Jon<em>

"What do you make of it?" I asked.

T'Pol was seated across the table from me in the captain's mess while the two of us shared breakfast. I tried not to dwell on Trip's conspicuously empty chair between us. He had been taking meals with us less frequently than he used to. I missed his banter.

The logical conclusion is the discrepancies are related to the ship in Cargobay 2. She set aside the PADD in her hand and picked up a fork. "As far as I'm able to tell, the anomaly began at the same time the craft was opened."

"That does make sense," I murmured. I picked up a triangle of toast and forced myself to bite into it. The guilt gnawing deep in my stomach had eliminated any appetite I had that morning. One man was dead, another injured, and something was interfering with the ship's sensors – something that could very well put the rest of my crew in danger.

And it was my fault. I'd been the one to insist we bring that ship aboard.

"I haven't yet determined the nature of the sensor variance," T'Pol continued. "Ion and radiation sweeps of the ship haven't revealed anything out of the ordinary. Although—"

I cut her off. "It's possible if the bio-sensors are affected, the rest of the ship's sensors are giving us false readings as well."

"I wouldn't rule out the possibility."

"Have we seen anything else unusual?" I asked.

She blew out a soft breath. "Doctor Phlox has reported a dramatic increase of cases of headaches on board. He's concerned not only because of the sudden onset, but also because of the nature of Rostov's and Summerfield's injuries." She shot a quick glance at her PADD. "And Counselor Agroterra has been overwhelmed with crewmembers seeking her assistance with emotional distress."

Sighing, I tossed the toast back onto my plate and pushed it back. I picked up my cup of coffee. "So what do you recommend?"

She sipped her tea. "My recommendation is to eject the craft into space."

I considered that as I took another drink of the hot, strong liquid in my mug. I knew her proposal was the safe and logical choice. But for all we knew, the damage had already been done.

"No," I finally said.

T'Pol raised her brow. "Captain?"

"We don't know what we're dealing with. Even if we do remove the alien craft from _Enterprise_, whatever was released when the craft was open could still be present once we released it back into space. Besides..." I paused to take another drink of my coffee. "If whatever is causing the problems on board is still attached to that ship, I couldn't in good conscience dump it into space only for someone else to pick it up later and run into the same situation."

"You understand we may not be able to determine what is happening." I heard the cautioning undertone in T'Pol's voice, but there was no outright argument. It was simply a statement of fact. "And we could very well be putting other members of the crew at risk."

"I know that." Fresh remorse flooded through me as I thought of Summerfield and Rostov. "But we have to try."

She studied me, and then speared a bite of fruit with her fork. "I will do what I can to determine what is causing the interference with the sensors."

"Thanks." I shot her a grateful smile.

I made another attempt to nibble on my toast, and for several minutes the two of us ate in silence. When I caught her staring at Trip's seat, I sighed. I knew she missed his presence at mealtimes even more than I.

"He'll be back one of these days."

T'Pol and slid her plate aside. "I'm concerned about him," she confessed. "Even when his sister died, he wasn't this volatile, nor so withdrawn."

"It's a little different when it's your own child." I offered her a sympathetic gaze.

She turned away, refusing to meet my eyes. I wondered how much she struggled between her suppressed emotions and her maternal instincts. It worried me that T'Pol had hardly missed a step since her daughter's passing. While Elizabeth's appearance in their lives had been sudden, it had been clear T'Pol and Trip had both loved their daughter. Trip had gone to one extreme, clinging to his grief and wrapping it around himself like a heavy blanket. But T'Pol seemed to have gone to the other end of the spectrum, refusing to acknowledge it affected her.

My heart hurt for both of them.

"Is he speaking to you at all?" I ventured.

"No." T'Pol still wouldn't meet my eyes. "I should say, very little. He speaks to me when necessary, but for the most part, he has retreated from everyone who may be of help to him."

"I spoke with Callie about it." I fiddled with my now-empty coffee cup.

"As have I."

T'Pol's response caught me off-guard. My brow furrowed. "I'm surprised you went to see her. That doesn't seem very…" I fought for the right words.

"Vulcan?" she supplied.

"Very T'Pol." I smiled wryly. "It doesn't seem like you to seek out counsel."

She appeared uncomfortable. "I had concerns."

"If you had concerns, you could have come to me."

Her face tinged green, and I could almost swear she was blushing. "They were of a personal nature."

I eyed her. "How personal?"

"Very personal." T'Pol shifted her gaze to her plate.

I sat back in my chair and stared at her. "I know you probably won't," I said, "but as your friend, I have to throw it out there." I leaned forward. "If you need to talk to someone…" I left the offer hanging between us.

"I appreciate your concern." She lifted her teacup to her lips and sipped. "For now, meditation is helpful." Her eyes met mine, and I saw a glimmer of gratitude below the surface of her gaze. "And knowing I have friends such as you nearby is a comfort."

"I wish there was more I could do. For both of you."

"Let's focus our attention on the anomalies on board the ship. The rest, I'm certain, will work itself out."

I nodded, picked up my mug, and drained it.

I hoped she was right.

* * *

><p><em>Callie<em>

So, apparently not everyone was affected by the anomaly, but according to my full schedule, it sure felt like it.

I knew T'Pol and her team had been working furiously the last two days to discover the source but not much else beyond that. The captain called a senior staff meeting so we could all put our heads together. I wasn't sure what I could offer, but I arrived in the conference room and gamely plopped down between Trip and Malcolm. I had a PADD on the table in front of me as I listened to T'Pol's summary of her findings.

When she finished detailing every test and diagnostic her team performed, the captain furrowed his brow. "So we don't know much more than we did two days ago." It was more of a statement than a question. I heard the frustration in his voice.

"No." T'Pol's response was terse, and I could sense the irritation rolling off of her. "We are doing our best."

"I know." John sighed. "That wasn't a dig. I know you're doing all you can." He gripped the edge of the table and stared down at his own PADD as if willing it to reveal some sort of well-kept secret.

I studied him, admiring the way his biceps flexed beneath the fabric of his uniform. My mind wandered back in time to our trip to Aruba a few years before. I remembered his arms and chest, bare and damp as we romped together in the ocean. Warmth began to spread through me as I vividly recalled the feel of those arms around me, his lips on mine as he lowered me onto a blanket on the beach…

A soft hoot of laughter pulled me back to reality. I glanced around, unsure how long I had indulged in those playful memories, and was relieved that none of my tablemates seemed to have noticed my brief escape.

Except two.

Trip leaned over and murmured in my ear, his deep voice sending blood rushing to my cheeks. "He can see you, you know."

Brief panic washed over me as I snapped my eyes to Jon. He had noticed. He fought a small, knowing smirk, and then turned his attention back to T'Pol. Trip's quiet snicker only made my face grow hotter.

Trip would never let me hear the end of that one. Then again, it was so good to hear him actually laugh for a change, I was willing to ignore the overwhelming urge to shove him out of the nearest airlock.

What had come over me? Sure, I found Jon attractive. But to lose myself in fantasy in the middle of a staff meeting was completely unprofessional and unlike me. Shaking off my strange behavior, I focused on the PADD in front of me and began scrolling through the scan reports T'Pol had supplied each of us.

As the names of crewmembers affected by the anomaly passed by my screen, my brow began to furrow. Tucker. T'Pol. Lopez. Andrews. Williams. I began to scroll faster, the rest of the room fading to the background as I checked timestamps against lists of names. Sato. Agroterra. Archer. O'Brien.

"… We could try an ion bursts to test whether or not that will flag anything…"

Archer. O'Brien. Lopez. Williams.

What about the names grabbed my attention?

"… We'd need to clear out those sections of the ship while we ran the tests…"

Andrews. Agroterra. Sato. Tucker. T'Pol.

Slowly, the pieces began to fall into place. I snapped my head up from the PADD and caught T'Pol's gaze across the table. "T'Pol," I interjected. "What do you do every night at 23:00?"

She stared at me and lifted that Vulcan brow. "I meditate."

"Son of a…" I trailed off, my eyes once again on the screen. "There is a pattern."

Silence fell over the room.

"Care to share with the rest of the class?" Jon asked. He paused behind T'Pol and strode around to stand behind me and peer over my shoulder.

"Look at the last two nights." I pointed as I scrolled through the lists. "T'Pol appears multiple times in the scan reports–until 23:00. After she meditates, she drops off the list."

Jon's brow furrowed and he leaned closer. "Go on."

By this time both Malcolm and Trip were vying to get a look at the screen, and T'Pol was making her way around the table. "Several people on the list have had sessions with me in the last 48 hours." I pointed to a name. "Ensign Williams's boyfriend proposed to her right before we left dry dock. She's been so excited and obsessive about it, she's unable to sleep. And Lieutenant Lopez." My finger traced down the screen to find him. "He lost his grandfather just last week." I was beginning to grow excited. I stood, sliding the PADD to the middle of the table so everyone could get a look.

"What are you getting at, Counselor?" Phlox asked.

"The pattern has nothing to do with position on the ship, gender, race, or even species," I said. "Every single person on this list has experienced some sort of elevated emotional state."

T'Pol cast me a skeptical look. "Interesting supposition," she said, "but there is no concrete proof."

"Sure there is," I countered. "Since the day that craft was opened, I've seen at least three new patients a day, if not more. Before that, I was lucky to be seeing three patients _in a day_." I planted my hands on the table and studied the PADD. "Even you have mentioned you've noticed increased emotional reactions among the crew."

"Even I've noticed, and I've been a bit preoccupied," Trip put in. "Yesterday, I had to break up a fight between Thomas and Harris in Engineering. I knew they didn't care for one another, but they've managed to keep their distance for the most part." He frowned. "Next to the plasma injectors isn't exactly the safest place for two of my engineers to be tossin' one another around."

"When Phlox scanned two of me in sickbay a few nights ago, it was right after I woke up from a strange dream." Hoshi leaned forward. "I was definitely unsettled."

"So you're proposing there is something on board the ship creating heightened emotions among the crew?" Phlox asked.

"No." I shook my head. "Not creating." I nodded in Trip's direction. "Thomas and Harris already disliked one another. That just escalated." I ran my finger down the screen on my PADD. "Williams would be happy about her engagement, but to the point she can't sleep? It's understandable Lopez would be upset over losing his grandfather. And Trip—"

I snapped my mouth shut. I'd avoided mentioning the frequency Trip appeared on the lists. But I had become so caught up in what I was saying, I blurted out his name before I could catch myself. Next to me, Jon tensed, bracing for Trip's reaction. I bit my lip and cautiously looked in Trip's direction.

I was surprised when he didn't lash out. Instead he rolled his eyes and sighed. "I know, I've been an emotional basket-case. Or so I've been told, repeatedly. Move along."

Jon and I exchanged a surprised looks. The corners of his lips pulled up in a tiny, relieved smile. "It sounds like we have some compelling evidence to support this proposition." He glanced at T'Pol. "What do you think?"

She didn't respond at first. I could almost see the thoughts tumbling around in her head as she considered the facts. "It certainly bears looking into," she conceded. "I'm not entirely convinced we have the correct answer." She eyed me with a look I couldn't quite read, but I swore I saw something akin to admiration in her gaze. "But it would be illogical not to explore the possibility."

"In the meantime," Malcolm spoke up for the first time, "we need to consider crew safety and security. If we released something when we opened that craft, we need to consider how we're going to combat it."

"Before we can do that, we need to know what we're fighting," Jon argued. "All we know right now is something _may_ be enhancing the emotions of the crew. Let's find something a little more concrete before we start looking at battle plans."

Malcolm appeared somewhat disgruntled, but he nodded.

"Trip, T'Pol, I want the two of you to find some way to isolate what is causing this. Radiation bursts, ion sweeps… Whatever you have to do. If there's anything the rest of us can do to help, let us know." He then turned to the doctor. "Phlox, you and Callie do what you can to hold the crew together." An apologetic look crossed his face. "I know this is cutting short your visit with your family," he said to Phlox. "I'll make it up to you after this is solved."

"Think nothing of it, Captain." Phlox waved off his concern. "The crew is our priority at the moment."

Jon nodded, though guilt still lingered in his eyes. "You all have your assignments," he said. "Dismissed."


	10. Chapter 9

_**Author's Note: **__Thanks for all of the fantastic reviews! It's been keeping me very motivated. _

Chapter Nine

_T'Pol_

It was not uncommon for me to continue working long after I retired to my quarters for the night. My space lacked the distractions of the busy bridge, and so I was able to focus more intently on the task at hand. On this particular night, I was following the captain's orders to locate the cause of the strange anomalies.

Captain Archer and I did not agree on a proper course of action. If the decision were mine, the alien ship sitting in our shuttlebay would be jettisoned out into space and the matter put behind us. Even if, as he said, the damage was already done, the logical conclusion was the craft posed a threat to our crew.

Still, Captain Archer's arguments had merit. Aside from the sheer rationality of his reasons, he was my superior officer. I was obligated to follow his orders.

Trip suggested I utilize an emitter to fill the room with a low-level burst of radiation and see if that helped to flush out the source of the interference. I felt I was a sufficient test subject as the counselor had discovered the phenomenon was recorded surrounding me in the hours prior to my nightly meditation.

I ran a sensor sweep of my quarters and noted the report indicated there were two of me in the room. I paused to consider if my emotions were amplified. I felt worn and raw. Evenings were particularly difficult for me, when the memories of my daughter were the sharpest. During the day, my work and activities throughout the ship distracted me. At night, my only combat against the pain was meditation. I closed my eyes. I would have no reprieve until this test was over.

With the initial sweep completed, I then turned to the emitter in my hands. It was set to release small bursts of varying types of radiation into the room. I first tried a discharge of gamma radiation. Once that was finished, I ran another sensor sweep of the room. Noting no change, I sighed and picked up the emitter once again. I tried three more types of innocuous radiation with no success.

Frustrated, I shifted in my chair. Sitting in the same position for so long had left me with stiff muscles, and so I stood to stretch. I continued my testing as I paced my quarters, stopping at my desk every few moments to run a new sensor sweep.

_Perhaps metreon radiation?_ I discharged the emitter into the room as I passed by the window, glancing up towards my desk as it finished.

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught movement. My eyes shot up to look out of the portal in my wall, my own reflection staring back at me.

What I saw in the reflection sent chills down my spine.

Behind me was a large, white, waxy-looking creature. The being stood a foot taller than I, and had an elongated head with three eye slits in its pale face. Long, gangly arms were crossed over its chest. It seemed shrouded by some sort of white cloth, which shadowed many of its features. The life form seemed to be staring at me, hunger radiating off of it. Slowly, it tilted its head and reached out one spindly arm towards me.

I dropped my emitter and spun around, a soft cry escaping my lips. I tensed, ready to do combat with the creature invading my space.

But it was gone.

Or it appeared to be. I stumbled backwards, leaning against my desk and gripping the edge of it for support as I stared at the space where the being had stood in the reflection. Frantically, I turned and pressed the button to run another sensor sweep of my quarters.

There were now three of me in the room.

Breathless, I reached out and pressed the communicator button on my desk. "T'Pol to Lieutenant Reed."

"Go ahead, Commander."

"I need a security team to my quarters." I pressed a calming hand to my abdomen. "Immediately."

* * *

><p><em>Trip<br>_

For the first time in a long time, I was starting to feel a little bit like myself again. I was tired of everyone talking about how emotional and disgruntled I was, and to tell you the truth, I was getting a little annoyed with my own company. I was proud of myself for managing to refrain from laying into Callie in the staff meeting. I wanted to, and I had to bite my tongue pretty damn hard. But for the first time in weeks, I'd managed to keep it together.

I don't know who was more surprised when I suggested to Malcolm we get together for some R and R. He eyed me suspiciously, but when he realized I really did mean it, he suggested a game of poker. It wasn't something we did regularly, but now and again we did play a few hands.

We were sitting at a table in the corner of my office, chips stacked in front of us. I had a cold glass of beer and two pair. Maybe things were starting to look up.

"I've been thinkin'," I said as I shuffled through my cards, "maybe we could talk the cap'n into some shore leave on Risa before we head into deep space."

Malcolm snorted as he studied his hand. "We just finished shore leave on Earth. I doubt he would go for another round so soon."

It stung, but I didn't say anything. I spent the time planning my daughter's funeral—not exactly relaxing. I picked up my glass and took a long sip of beer to calm the annoyance that started to well up. "Maybe the rest of you had shore leave." I was careful to keep my voice even. "But I didn't have a grand time."

He heard the underlying bitterness and glanced up, guilt in his eyes. I knew he'd forgotten, and I sort of felt bad for making a point of reminding him. "I'm sorry," he said as he stared at his cards again. Malcolm fell silent and rearranged his hand for the third time. "I don't think any of us had a smashing time on leave. Perhaps we could convince the captain it would be therapeutic." He smirked at me. "It couldn't possibly be any worse than the last time we visited Risa."

I grinned, tossing one chip to the middle of the table. "You get a guy tied up in his underwear for a night one time, and he never lets you live it down."

He chuckled and dropped three chips into the pot. "Perhaps Risa wouldn't be the best choice, given our history there. I'm sure if we asked her sweetly enough, T'Pol could pull up a nice, tropical planet in the Vulcan database."

I choked on a swallow of beer. "Yeah, that'll go over real well." I studied my cards and plunked down four more chips. "'Hey, T'Pol, can you find us a nice planet where we can go relieve frustrations.' Man, she'd kill me."

"For the right planet and the right stress-relievers, perhaps it would be worth the risk."

I laughed as he upped the bet once more, then studied his face carefully. It was damned near impossible to tell if Malcolm was bluffing. He was an expert at keeping his emotions in-check. My hand was decent, but I had no idea what he was holding. After a moment of deliberation, I reached for more chips to meet his bet and call.

As my fingers brushed the chips, I froze. Malcolm sensed the sudden tension that rushed through me and glanced up sharply. "Are you alright?"

"Somethin's not right." I sat back in my chair and looked around, uneasy. I couldn't explain it. I just knew something, somewhere on _Enterprise_ was very wrong.

I suppose the lieutenant thought I was joking. "Perhaps there's a nacelle out of alignment," he joked.

"I'm serious, Malcolm," I said. My lips pursed thoughtfully, and I struggled to put my finger on whatever was bothering me.

"Well then maybe—"

"T'Pol to Lieutenant Reed."

The sound of her voice caused both of us to jump. I cursed as I knocked over my beer and reached for a cloth to mop it up.

Malcolm stood and strode over to my comm unit. "Go ahead, Commander."

"I need a security team to my quarters. Immediately."

I glanced at Malcolm, the puddle forgotten. To anyone else, T'Pol might have sounded calm and detached. But I could hear the tension in her voice. Suddenly I knew why I was edgy. It was our damned bond again. Taking a deep breath, I let down the guard she taught me to put up between us, and her fear nearly knocked me over.

"On my way," Malcolm responded. He paused long enough to summon the rest of a security team to her quarters, but I was already out the door.

I didn't wait around for the security team to catch up. I was at her door in a heartbeat, punching in my override code to let myself in without even bothering to ring the bell. "You okay?" I asked, grabbing her by the shoulders.

"I'm unharmed." She struggled to give me a reassuring look, but there was strain under her cool, collected surface.

I dug my fingers in harder to keep from pulling her into my arms. "Are you sure?"

"Trip, I'm—"

She cut off as security entered the room, the captain hot on their heels. I released T'Pol and stepped back.

"What's going on?" Malcolm asked. He had a phase pistol in his hand, and by the look in his eyes, I'm pretty sure he was itching to use it.

T'Pol glanced briefly at me, and then turned to them. "We have an intruder."

The captain's eyes darkened. "What?"

She took a deep breath and described what happened. The more she spoke, the tighter my fists clenched. A white-hot ball of fury was beginning to build in my stomach. I wanted nothing more than to find the pasty bastard who invaded T'Pol's room and rip his head off with my bare hands.

Malcolm examined every square inch of the room and then turned back to the captain and T'Pol. "I don't see any evidence of the intruder." There was a note of doubt in his voice.

"I do," she replied. I took a deep breath to steady myself as she strode over to her desk and punched a few buttons. "I'm once again seeing the same sensor anomaly we've been dealing with in this room."

"You think what you saw is what has been interfering with the sensors?" The strain in the captain's voice was evident. He was protective of his crew, and the idea of something invading to this level didn't sit well with him. He was probably as pissed off as I was. He was just a little better at controlling it.

"There are two possibilities," T'Pol replied. "The first is I experienced a hallucination brought on by the anomaly." She glanced down at her emitter. "And the other possibility is the metreon radiation burst caused me to be able to see a creature for a brief moment."

"If that's the case, what are the odds the extra crew members we've been seeing on the sensor sweeps are one of the beings you saw?" Malcolm holstered his phase pistol on his side and glanced around the room with a dark look.

T'Pol tapped the emitter against one palm. "I would say those are very good odds."

The captain glanced over at Malcolm's security team and dismissed them with a nod. Once they left the room, he fixed his gaze on T'Pol. "Let's try another radiation burst."

I stepped behind her and peered over her shoulder as she recalibrated the emitter. The close contact intensified our bond, and her storm of emotions were almost palpable. For a split-second, several ideas of creative ways I could help her relieve the strain flashed through my mind before I pushed them back down. I wasn't fast enough, though, because she glanced up at me sharply.

Flushing, I coughed and stepped back.

"I'm ready, Captain," T'Pol said.

He nodded to her, and then at Malcolm and me. The tension in the room shot up so high you could have cut it. T'Pol activated the emitter, filling the room with radiation.

It didn't happen right away. In fact, I was pretty sure we were safe and maybe T'Pol's hallucination theory was right. But then seconds after the emitter shut down, I found myself standing between two tall, pale, ghostly figures, their hands reaching out to touch my head.

"What the hell?" I jumped out of their reach. Malcolm pulled his pistol again and the captain braced for combat.

As quickly as the shadowy figures appeared, they vanished.

For a few minutes, none of us could speak. We stared at each other in stunned silence.

"I don't think that was a hallucination." Captain Archer rested a hand on my shoulder. "You alright?"

I nodded, though I was shaken. "I think so. I mean, I didn't feel anything. But damn. That was creepy."

"Well, we know how to see them now," Malcolm spoke up. "So how do we combat them?"

"I'll do some further investigation," T'Pol replied. "Experimenting with radiation bursts is what revealed the creatures. Perhaps that will give me a way of combating them."

"I don't want you alone tonight," I blurted. The captain and Malcolm both looked at me as if I'd suddenly grown another head, but I ignored them. "If those things are in here…"

I swear she almost rolled her eyes. "I'll be fine. I'm in no more danger than anyone else on this ship." She looked up at me pointedly. "The counselor noted the creatures seem to leave me be once I've meditated. I will do so, and rest."

Despite my best efforts to squash it, hot anger washed over me. "Of course you will. Just like always, you'll solve it your own damn self without anyone to help you."

"Trip—"

"Would it hurt for you to just once accept help? Just once." Deep down, I was shaken and upset. The tone in T'Pol's voice and the waves of fear I felt from her when she called for Malcolm affected me more than I wanted to admit. I wanted—_needed_—to reassure myself she was safe.

"Trip, you need to calm down." The captain's stern voice broke through my tirade.

"Why?" I shot back.

"Because the sensors are now showing four of you standing in this room." T'Pol's tone was soft with concern.

Not quite believing her, I pushed past the captain and looked down at the sensor readings on the screen sitting on her desk. Sure enough, it showed four Commander Tuckers. I stared at it, my frustration over the entire damned situation growing with each passing moment.

I couldn't take it anymore. "For fuck's sake, would you soul-sucking creatures leave me the hell alone?" I shouted, hands clenched at my sides. "I—"

A wave of dizziness cut me off, and I stumbled backwards. Instantly I felt a pair of strong hands catch me. "Easy, Trip." Concern laced the captain's voice as he helped me upright. "You need to calm down."

This time the command penetrated the furious fog on my brain and I forced myself to relax. "I'm okay." I didn't sound okay, even to my own ears.

The captain and T'Pol exchanged a worried glance. "I want you to go down to sickbay and have Phlox check you over."

"I'm not going to sickbay."

"Trip, that wasn't a request."

Panic welled up fast and strong. "I'm not—!" I started to shout, and a fresh wave of dizziness washed over me. Again I felt the captain grab me by the arm to steady me as I pressed a hand to my forehead. "I'm not going to sickbay," I repeated, this time calmer and quieter. "You can have the doc come to my quarters and check me over, but I'm _not_ going to sickbay unless you knock me out and drag me in there."

T'Pol placed a restraining hand on the captain's arm, and I shoved aside an irrational flash of jealousy. "We will send Dr. Phlox to your quarters," she said. Her eyes begged me to listen to her, and I sighed in response. "Go to your quarters. Rest."

I debated arguing, but decided I just didn't have it in me. "Fine," I agreed. "But if you find out anything else…"

"You'll be the first to know." The captain tried to smile, but a touch of wariness marred it. He nodded towards the door. "Go."

Pinching the bridge of my nose to try and alleviate my now-throbbing head, I nodded. My shoulders slumped as I turned to go. Suddenly the idea of burying myself in my bunk for a few hours didn't sound so bad.

* * *

><p><em>Jon<em>

The next morning, I gathered together a small meeting in my ready room. It wasn't a full senior staff meeting—just those who were the most crucial for the investigation into the creatures we now knew were prowling the ship. T'Pol was perhaps the most important of the group gathered, but I'd also included Malcolm, Phlox, and Callie. Since he was still sleeping–and clearly needed it–I left Trip out this time. I would bring him up-to-date later.

Once we brought the doctor and counselor up to speed, I turned to T'Pol. "Have you turned up anything else overnight?" I asked.

"No," she replied and switched on a PADD. "I've continued running sensor sweeps at regular intervals, if for no other reason than to keep track of the beings' movements." T'Pol paused, conflict in her eyes. "And I suppose after the display we witnessed in my quarters last night, it's safe to conclude the beings are, as the counselor proposed, attracted to those with heightened emotional states."

Callie was perched on the edge of my desk, palms planted on the surface. "What happened in your quarters?"

I looked up at her. "Trip was pretty fired up. The more angry he became, the more of the creatures we could see on the sensor sweeps." Absently, I fiddled with an empty mug in front of me. "When he blew his top, he was dizzy." Worried, I glanced at Phlox.

"I did go and examine him in his quarters last night," the doctor assured me. "There was some elevated activity in the medial cortex, a bit more than I was comfortable with. He's agreed to allow me to monitor him. I cleared him for duty this morning."

"I have noted something of concern," T'Pol said, her gaze meeting mine. "The sensor sweeps indicate the beings are increasingly attracted to Commander Tucker. We're approaching a point at which there will consistently be multiple copies of him appearing on the sensor sweeps every time one is run."

I exhaled and closed my eyes.

"Of course," Callie put in. "He's a veritable Sunday buffet."

Malcolm shot her a curious look. "He's what?"

"It's obvious these creatures are attracted to something about our emotional reactions," she explained. "We've all noticed the entire crew is a bit more unrestrained than they normally would be. If these… things are able to stir up our emotions, then Trip's the easiest target."

I studied her. "Why do you say that?"

"Even before the incident with the alien craft, we all observed Commander Tucker as more volatile than usual," Phlox interjected.

"Exactly." Callie nodded. "He's upset and harboring a lot of anger, frustration, and hurt. It's easy to provoke him. All you have to do to get a rise out of him these days is tell him his uniform is blue."

An exaggeration, but with a ring of truth to it.

"Is there anything we can do to protect him?" I glanced between Phlox and Callie. I desperately hoped one of them had an idea.

The two of them exchanged blank looks. "Short of sedating him, I don't know," Callie replied helplessly.

"Even if we did that—and assuming he wouldn't be plagued with unsettling dreams while sedated—the beings would find a new target." Phlox appeared agitated, a sentiment I could relate to. "We wouldn't be solving anything but redirecting the problem to someone else."

I closed my eyes and leaned my head back.

"I'm not comfortable knowing there are strange creatures floating about the ship and we have no way to combat them," Malcolm put in.

"I'm not either, Malcolm, but until we know more…" I trailed off, gazing thoughtfully out the window.

Something Malcolm said when the alien ship was brought aboard popped into my mind. It seemed inconsequential at the time, but now I wondered.

"_There's clearly no one inside—but I don't see a body, either."_

I spun in my chair and turned back to the others, resting my elbows on my knees and leaning forward. "I want to know what happened on that alien ship."

"Captain?" There was a note of curiosity in T'Pol's voice.

"Until now, we've assumed the ship itself was responsible for everything we've been seeing. Let's assume it's not the ship but what was contained in the ship that's the source." Standing, I began pacing the floor. "Malcolm, when you, Trip, and I first inspected the ship, you noticed there was no pilot—"

"And no body." His fingers began to tap on his thigh in agitation.

"What happened to the pilot?" I asked.

Silence.

"I want the seal on the shuttlebay broken." My first order was at Malcolm, who nodded in agreement. "T'Pol, I want you and Trip to work on pulling the ship's logs. Whatever you have to do. Get them to Hoshi, and have her work on translating them."

"Yes, Captain."

"Phlox, Callie, I want the two of you to find some way to protect Tr—" I caught myself. "Protect the crew from whatever these things are. Some sort of protocol, medication, something. Figure out what it is about our emotional states they're attracted to and find a way to block it."

"We'll get to work on it right away." Phlox stood. I could already see the wheels in his mind spinning, and I wondered which of the residents of sickbay would be volunteered for this experiment.

"Let me know as soon as any of you have made progress," I ordered. "Dismissed."

My staff began to file out, but Callie lingered behind. "Jon?" she asked, dropping formalities now that we were alone.

"Yeah?"

She reached out and squeezed my hand. "We'll get Trip through this."

I turned my hand over to return the gentle pressure. "Yes, we will." _I owe him that much._

Her dark eyes lingered on mine. I felt the overwhelming desire to pull her against me and seek comfort in her arms. As I debated whether or not I would be rebuffed, she released my hand and headed to the door.

"I'd better go help Phlox." A bemused grin tugged at her lips. "I have a feeling I'm about to have an in-depth lesson on the healing capabilities of his osmotic eel."

As she slipped out the door and onto the bridge, I chuckled and sat down. Almost instantly, the amusement faded and I buried my head in my hands.

How in the world would we get out of this one?


	11. Chapter 10

_Author's Note: Very sorry for the extremely long delay! I haven't forgotten about the story, and I'm slowly plodding along. However, I had about six weeks of hell on Earth at work, and I'm also in the process of a move to another state. So while progress is slow, there is still some progress happening._

_Thanks for all of the reviews! I love the feedback._

**Chapter Ten**

_Malcolm_

With the captain's approval, it was time to find answers. Trip and I stood in the corridor of Shuttlebay Two, anxious to examine the craft wreaking havoc on our crew.

The last time anyone was in the room one crewman died. The other was still lying in sickbay. That knowledge and the images it conjured caused me to pause, my hand poised to enter my access code. I glanced over at Trip as he leaned against the wall. "Are you certain you're up for this?"

Suspicion clouded his expression. "Why wouldn't I be?"

I coughed and pretended to be suddenly fascinated with the access panel. "I was just thinking… Last night, in T'Pol's quarters…"

Trip's cheeks flushed with anger. "I'll be no worse off in there than I am anywhere else on the ship," he retorted. "Let's just get in there and get the damn job done."

"Very well." I took a deep breath, steeled my nerve, and input my code into the door lock.

I really don't know what I expected to see once the doors slid open. The room had been left undisturbed in the few days since the incident. The hatch of the small spacecraft was open, stuck at an odd angle. Aside from the ship, the room was empty. The cavernous room was soo eerily silent, one could have heard the proverbial pin as it dropped to the deck plating. An involuntary shiver washed over me.

Next to me, Trip swept the room with a medical tricorder. Phlox had suggested we use the devices to isolate the creatures when we didn't have immediate access to the ship's bio-sensors. Trip's eyes darted around the room and tension tightened his shoulders as he scanned the bay. Finally, he relaxed and turned to me.

"We're good," he said. "Nothin' here but you and me."

"For now."

Trip shook his head, a faint smile pulling at the corners of his lips. "Always the pessimist." Cautiously, he approached the craft and ran his hand along the smooth exterior. "'Course, you're probably right. Those things seem to like me for some reason."

I followed him, my fingers tapping nervously on the butt of the phaser holstered to my hip. "The counselor says it's because you're the easiest target."

He stopped with his hand still on the hull of the craft, and glared at me over his shoulder. "She said what?"

"I think she simply meant you have the most on your mind at the moment," I said in an attempt to placate him before the situation escalated. "If these beings do prey on our emotions and amplify them, I think she was implying you are the one easiest to agitate at this moment."

He dropped his eyes and stared at a blank spot on the side of the craft, and I could see the conflict warring within him. Eventually he sighed, his shoulders slumping. "I know she's right, and I've really been tryin' to use some of the relaxation techniques T'Pol's taught me over the years. But…" He trailed off.

"But?"

Trip's brow furrowed as he tentatively stuck his head into the craft. "But I wish she'd leave her nose out of my damn business."

I fought a grin and accepted the tricorder he handed to me. "Have you considered the possibility that, as ship's counselor, she may just know what she's talking about?"

"Yes." There was a brief pause before he muttered under his breath, "I hate it when she's right."

I chuckled softly as I followed him into the ship. We were both slow and careful, as if we expected something to jump out at us at any moment. My hand rested on my phase pistol, which soothed my frayed nerves. Trip made his way to the pilot's chair while I carefully searched the remainder of the ship.

After a few moments, I couldn't stand the silence any longer. "What does the computer system look like?" I called over my shoulder as I examined a storage locker filled with what seemed to be rations.

"Well, I'm not sure." I turned to see Trip running his hand over the top if his head and staring at the main console with frustration etched in his face. "I can't even find the damned 'on' switch."

"I didn't think there was a piece of technology in the galaxy Commander Charles Tucker couldn't master." My lips twitched with amusement.

He glanced up at me with a self-depreciating grin. "I may have just met my match." He slid down out of the pilot's seat, removed the access panel under the console, and began tinkering with the conduits below. "I've never seen anything like this before."

I crouched down behind him, peering over his shoulder at the complex network of channels running under the console. "Hmmm." It certainly wasn't like anything I'd seen before, either. "Perhaps connect this conduit to this one?" I reached past him to point.

"That'd work on the _Enterprise_, but I'm not sure if it'd work here." Trip studied it, and then shrugged. "Worth a try, I guess."

I moved back to the rear of the ship once again so he would have room to work. After several minutes of muttered curses and annoyed exclamations, Trip emerged from beneath the panels. "Power."

"Power?"

"The ship has been sittin' out in the middle of nowhere for a long, long time. I bet she doesn't have a bit of juice left in her." He stood, and before I could reply, exited the ship. I peered out of the hatch in time to see his retreating back dart out the bay doors.

I crouched in the alien ship for several minutes, a bit at a loss about what I should be doing. I was fairly certain Trip would be back momentarily–at least I hoped so. The very idea of sitting alone in the craft for long was unsettling, images of what transpired when it was opened spinning through my mind. Relief flooded over me as Trip returned with a long run of cable and a box of equipment.

He crouched next to me and unpacked tools from the box. "Let's jump-start this thing," he said with a mischievous gleam in his eye.

Seeing him like his old self did my heart good.

In a few moments, the cabling was connected to the alien ship. Instantly, the overhead lights brightened the cabin and the console lit up. "Very impressive Commander Tucker," I said with a grin. "I believe your record remains untarnished."

I may as well have been speaking to a brick wall, as Trip was so focused on his work he didn't appear to hear me. "Malcom, what the hell do you make of this?" he asked, pointing to the control panel. An image of what seemed to be a keyboard flickered in and out of existence. Several other displays also came to life around the pilot's seat, one projecting the quavering image of the ship, along with damage indicators throughout various points of the vessel.

Trip and I exchanged a look, and with a shrug, he reached a tentative hand toward the keyboard. I held my breath, and took a small, nervous step back. It fizzled, and then several lights brightened on the panel. "I believe it's–or was–a holographic interface," Trip said.

"Holographic?" I continued to stare at it, struggling to understand how it would work. He slid back under the console, presumably to get a better look at the ship's operations. I cautiously inched toward the instrument panel as a loud alarm and flashing lights filled the cabin. "Are you sure it's supposed to do that?" I called.

"Don't worry Malcom, I know what I'm doing," Trip replied, his voice almost cheerful. Seconds later a shower of sparks sent me backing quickly to the back of the cabin, and the commander unleashed a string of profanity. Muttering to himself, Trip crawled out from under the console. He rubbed his hand, a fresh plasma burn welling up on the back of it.

"You should have Dr. Phlox take a look at that." I nodded towards the injury.

"It'll be fine," he said dismissively as he pulled something from beneath the instrument array. "Let's see what we can pull out of this thing." He held out a small object triumphantly. "If I'm right, this is the ship's 'black box'. Hopefully there's something on here that'll help us out. We'll need to get Hoshi to interface it with the translator, though."

"Well, then," I said, already moving to the hatch. "Let's go find Hoshi."

"Right behind you."

* * *

><p><em>Hoshi<em>

Retrieving the logs from the alien craft's black box didn't take nearly as long as I thought it would. With the translation complete, I settled at my console to review the information. The first entries were mundane, detailing the everyday activities one would expect on a ship of that size. Systems checks. Sensor scans. Data collection. The pilot–a female, as it turns out, named Andara–was thorough. She entered every step she had taken into both the ship's log and her personal record. The craft she piloted, the _Aquila_, was an attack vessel, and her assignment had been to test a prototype tactical system.

My lips twitched with amusement and I glanced across the bridge at our armory officer. Malcolm would be drooling if he could see some of the capabilities Andara claimed _Aquila_ had.

I turned back to the logs. As I continued, I began to notice a shift in Andara's tone. In the beginning, she spun her tale in a very precise, scientific manner. I heard T'Pol's voice in my head as I read. Slowly, she began to discuss her feelings on her work. Her loneliness after so many weeks working in space. Andara talked about her longing for her family at home.

The detached, technical discussion of the weapons systems tests faded and she became more erratic with each passing word. Paranoia set in, and she grew convinced some strange alien race had planted a device on _Aquila_ to watch her every move, with the intent of stealing the prototype system. She outlined drastic and complex measures she put into place to protect herself, such as welding the hatch closed and sealing herself in.

Over time, she descended into what I can only call madness. The once fluid, deliberate voice became a mish-mash of unintelligible gibberish. I tried to make sense of her final entries, but eventually concluded she had been too far gone to make any sense.

But then I ran across the final entry; the words sent a chill dancing down my spine.

_They are coming._

_They are coming._

_They are coming._

_They are coming._

_They…_

_Are…_

"Captain!"

My call sounded much more panicked than I intended. Captain Archer's head snapped away from his hushed conversation with T'Pol at the science station. He quickly glanced around, confusion furrowing his brow. "Hoshi?"

I took a deep breath to gather my composure and spoke again. "I think you need to take a look at this."

He glanced at T'Pol, and crossed the few steps between my station and hers. "What do you have?" he asked, bending to peer over my shoulder.

I moved aside to allow him room to read. Still unsettled, I watched Captain Archer's face. His expression grew increasingly grim as he skimmed through them, and I could almost hear the thoughts churning in his mind.

"Are you sure this translated correctly?" he asked once he finished. Worry darkened his eyes as he looked at me.

I nodded. "Absolutely sure, sir." My voice was little more than a whisper.

The captain fell silent, his attention fixed on the display in front of us. He opened his mouth to say something, but stopped when the door to the lift slid open and Commander Tucker's voice filled the bridge.

"Were you able to get the logs translated?"

Captain Archer's eyes snapped up, and the color drained from his face. "Yeah," he finally managed, a bit hoarsely. He smiled tightly. "It came through just fine."

"Oh good," Trip replied. "Anything we can use?"

"We're not sure yet. Hopefully, we'll know soon enough." The captain glanced at me. "Hoshi, send those logs to the counselor and tell her I want her to take a look at them. I'd like her opinion on them before we take any more steps." He squeezed my shoulder in a silent warning and dropped his voice so only I could hear him. "And don't tell anyone what's in those logs just yet."

"Yes, sir." I hurriedly forwarded the logs from my terminal to Callie's office. I lifted my eyes long enough to give Captain Archer a visual acknowledgement of his order, only to catch the brief glimmer of fear in his eyes as he spared one more gaze in Trip's direction.

With a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, my fingers flew over the console. He didn't have to say it, but I knew the same thought was spinning through the captain's mind that was tumbling through mine.

If we didn't move fast enough, would Trip end up like Andara?

* * *

><p><em>Jon<em>

When I didn't hear from Callie after two hours, I headed toward her office. I knew I should give her time to read the logs and analyze them. For all I knew, she was with a patient. We were all in emotional upheaval because of the creatures, and I was well aware her workload had tripled. But I couldn't wait. As I read through the logs on Hoshi's console, Trip's face flashed through my mind. My best friend. My chief engineer.

I would do everything in my power to protect him from the same fate _Aquila_'s pilot had met.

Hesitating outside of Callie's door, I took a deep breath and pressed the buzzer. I heard her distracted answer from within, granting me entrance. I blew out a relieved sigh. At least I wasn't interrupting a counseling session.

Callie was seated behind her desk, absorbed in the display. She pinned her hair up that morning, but strands of it escaped and teased around her face. Tucking one behind her ear, she spared a glance in my direction and then back to the monitor. The corners of her mouth twitched with amusement. "If you want this done right, you can't expect instantaneous results."

I moved around the desk and perched myself on the edge of it. "I don't have the luxury of giving you the time you need to do it right. Just give me what you've got."

She blew out a breath and looked up at me. "I don't think I need to tell you there's cause for concern," she began. "My assessment is Andara was under extreme emotional distress which resulted in paranoia. I think." Callie rubbed her forehead with the tip of her fingers. "I'm making educated guesses based on the evidence I have. For all we know, something may very well have been trying to get at her."

"But you don't think so." It was more of a statement than a question.

"Honestly? No." She turned from me, her eyes once again fixing on the display. "There could have been something after her, but based on what we've seen on _Enterprise_, I'm pretty sure what we see in these logs is a result of what those creatures did to her."

I stared over her shoulder at the screen. "Do you think this is going to happen to us?" I already knew the answer, but I needed to hear someone say it.

Slowly she nodded, still not looking at me. "One by one, yes, I'd say so."

I heard the meaning beneath her words. "Trip is first." My gut wrenched as I voiced what we were both thinking. "Isn't he?"

Sighing, Callie moved around the desk and leaned against it. "If we're going to get technical, Summerfield was first." She wrapped her arms _almost defensively_ around herself. "But I am worried about Trip." She lifted her eyes to meet mine, and I could see her fear. "These things are pretty attracted to him."

I ran a hand over my face. "Was there anything at all in those logs that will help us fight them?"

"Not really," she admitted. "I understand what to expect a little better, but I still have no idea how to fight them."

She leaned to the side and rested her head on my shoulder. It required every bit of self-control I possessed to resist the compulsion to slide an arm around her and pull her closer to me. Her lavender scent stirred a hundred memories I thought I had long buried. Unconsciously, I sighed.

That pulled Callie out of her reverie. She snapped upright, her cheeks flushing. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean—"

"It's okay." I tucked the strand of hair back behind her ear. "You're upset and worried. Besides…" A small smile tugged on my lips. "I didn't mind."

She studied me, indecision on her face. Her eyes closed. "Jon," she said, pleading in her voice, "I need you to be somewhere else."

Startled and hurt, I pulled back. "Excuse me?"

"Don't take it so personally." Her tone was gentle. "We know the creatures loose on the ship feed on our stronger emotions." I nodded. "Then the best way to protect ourselves right now is to set aside those feelings." She smiled ruefully. "You're not helping my situation."

That was the closest Callie came to admitting she still had feelings for me, and I knew it was the closest she _would_ come–for now. I pushed off of her desk and stood. "Then I'm going back to the bridge. I have T'Pol reviewing the technical logs for the ship. I'll see if I can help her. In the meantime, talk the situation over with Phlox. The two of you put your heads together and see what you can come up with after reviewing the ship's personal logs." I paused, reaching out to touch her cheek. "We'll get through this. And when this is all over, you and I are going to talk."

Callie nodded mutely as I strolled out the door.


	12. Chapter 11

_**Author's Note: **__ Sorry for the delay. I just completed a move to an entirely different state. _

_**Chapter Eleven**_

_T'Pol_

More than forty-eight hours after the logs were pulled from _Aquila's_ databanks, we were no closer to understanding the creatures that had invaded our ship. And without this crucial knowledge, we had no way protect the crew. Phlox, the counselor, and I went through the logs time and again, but all of our answers were still speculation. Why were the creatures here? And to what, specifically, were they attracted?

"Without knowing what is happening in the body during one of these attacks," Phlox said, "I can't determine whether they are attracted to the energy produced by chemical reactions in the mind, the chemicals themselves, or something else entirely."

We were gathered in the situation room for an informal meeting of the senior staff. To my left, Trip stood with his arms folded over his chest as he leaned against a console. Anxiety and agitation radiated from him like a gathering storm. An irrational desire to touch and soothe him swept over me and I took a step back, startled by my reactions. I have physically comforted Trip in the past—when he was grieving his sister and then our daughter—but never had the impulse been so strong, and it had always been in response to his desires. This time the instinct was my own and it alarmed me. Perhaps the alien beings on board the _Enterprise_ were having a greater effect on me than I previously believed.

"Can't you use the imaging chamber in sickbay?" the captain asked, rubbing his chin as he paced.

"We tried that," Callie spoke up. She stood between Phlox and Hoshi, her brow furrowed, and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. "I went into the chamber myself while Phlox watched the sensors." She shrugged helplessly. "We waited an hour, but nothing happened. The only thing we can figure is the confined space blocks the beings."

"Could you use the decontamination room?" I suggested.

Callie and Phlox exchanged a glance, silently conferring with one another. "Well." Phlox replied. "Why didn't we think of that?"

The corners of Captain Archer's mouth twitched upward. "You've been busy. Would it work?"

"It should, yes," Phlox said, thoughtful. "The decontamination room is equipped with biometric sensors which are designed to detect microscopic organisms." He paused. "Yes, it should be fine. We will simply need to 'bait' one of the creatures."

Silence. "So," Callie ventured. "Who's going to be the bait?"

"I will," Trip spoke up. He shrugged. "You keep saying they like me. It should be pretty easy for me to attract them, me being a basket case and all."

Bitterness crashed through the bond we shared, so abject, so staggering I nearly gripped the table in response. I caught the significant look that passed between the captain and the counselor. I was certain they were thinking of the contents of _Aquila_'s databanks, and I shared their concerns.

"No," I replied, my tone leaving little room for him to argue. "I will go."

His eyes flashed, and his anger was like a hot wave between us. "The hell you will! It's not safe."

I lifted a brow. "I have greater emotional and mental discipline, Commander. I am the superior candidate." I turned to Captain Archer. "As first officer, I strongly recommend against using Commander Tucker as our 'bait.'"

A silent battle of wills passed between Trip and me, his face full of indignation and anger and mine carefully impassive. Inside, I fought to quell my fear for his safety and suppress it before he could detect it, but it was too late. His expression abruptly changed, and he regarded me with suspicion.

"What aren't you tellin' me?"

"How about we just stick with Phlox's and my original plan for me to go in?" Callie quickly interrupted. "I can handle it."

"No." Captain Archer's response was instant and sharp. The counselor's eyes darted over to meet his, and something indecipherable and tangible passed between them. Curious.

"Look," the captain continued, "I don't want any of you putting yourself in danger. I'll go in."

"But, sir—" Malcolm began to protest, but cut off when the captain held up a hand.

"This isn't up for debate, Malcolm. If something goes wrong, I'll have an expert medical team waiting right outside." He attempted a reassuring smile, but it didn't meet his eyes. "I'll be fine."

"Captain, I agree with Lieutenant Reed," I stated. "It would be better if I—"

"Commander, assist the doctor and the counselor in preparations." His expression was firm, and I repressed the urge to argue. "That's an order." He glanced around. "All of you."

"Yes, Captain," I replied.

"Fine." Callie's tone was laced with an undercurrent of something I couldn't quite identify. She turned and left, Phlox behind her. I went to follow, but Trip blocked my path.

"It would be easier if I went in there." Trip's face was full of rebellion. "I'm the best chance we've got."

I stared him, a swirl of conflicted emotion threatening to well up within me. A dozen memories played through my mind. His arrogance and sarcasm the first few times we met. His anger and grief over the news of his sister's passing. Trip, still and silent in sickbay after the accident in Engineering nearly took him from us. Tenderness in his face and his touch as we made love. His heartbreak and tears over the loss of our daughter. And then, unbidden, the image of Summerfield passed through my mind and the very real idea that it could be Trip next.

"No," I said, my voice almost a whisper. "You aren't the best choice.

He stepped closer. "What aren't you all tellin' me, T'Pol? I'm gettin' real tired of everyone tiptoein' around me like there's some big damn secret."

I paused to gather my thoughts, torn between the desire to tell him the danger he was in and the need to protect him. "It is unnecessary for you to risk further exposure when there are suitable alternatives."

Anger heated his eyes again. "T'Pol—"

"I need to assist the counselor and the doctor." I moved to the door and gave him a curt nod.

Once I was safely out of his sight, I sank against the bulkhead and closed my eyes. The torrent of emotions assaulting me through my bond with Trip was exhausting. For his sake—and mine—we needed to find a solution.

Soon.

* * *

><p><em>Trip<em>

I was seething as I made my way to the decontamination room. I had a rip-roaring headache. My stomach was roiling. My so-called friends were keeping secrets from me. A big part of me wanted to lash out, something. I was hurt and angry and I wanted—needed—someone to know it.

Gritting my teeth, I stepped into the outer section of the decontamination room where T'Pol, Callie, Phlox, Malcolm, and the captain had all gathered. I folded my arms over my chest and leaned against the wall. I'd made up my mind I wasn't going to actively help them, but I'd be damned if I sat back and let them keep me even more out of the loop than I already was.

When preparations were finished, the captain stepped cautiously into the decon chamber and peered out at us through the window. "Ready when you are," he called, nervousness in his voice.

"We're ready, Captain." T'Pol sounded calm and even. In an odd way it was good to know that some things never change.

Jon fidgeted, glancing around anxiously. He scratched the back of his head. "I'm not really sure what I should be doing here," he finally admitted.

Callie's lips twitched in amusement as she watched medical readouts over Phlox's shoulder. "Think about something that would make you emotional," she suggested. "Angry, sad, happy… You pick."

Again he squirmed and grinned sheepishly. "That's harder to do on command than you might think."

I pushed away from the wall. "Let me help."

Phlox, T'Pol and Callie exchanged glances. "Trip—" Callie began.

"Just sit over there and look over your readouts," I retorted. "I can handle this." I stepped closer to the window, not quite able to identify the hot ball of emotion curling inside my gut. "Come on, Cap'n. It's not so hard. Think about the Reptilians in the Expanse."

His green eyes were fixed on me, and I saw a small muscle in his jaw twitch. I glanced over my shoulder and met Callie's gaze. She nodded encouragingly. _Now we're getting somewhere…_

The ball began to uncurl and spread through me as I continued. "Think about the Dr. Soong and the augment mess he created. The Kreetassans and their stupid tree. About Emory Erikson and his son." I stepped closer to the window. "Think about the damned Vulcan High Command and how they nearly killed you and T'Pol."

I was getting to him. He had that cold, hard expression we all became used to while _Enterprise _was in the Expanse. Somewhere in the back of my mind it registered I'd gotten him riled up and that was probably enough, but I shoved that thought aside and kept going.

"Think about the Vissians." My voice dropped, and I almost didn't recognize it. "The Illyrian ship we left stranded." I could see anger blazing in his eyes, and still I didn't stop. "The big-eared freaks who took the whole ship hostage. Canamar, Cap'n. Think about Canamar."

By now my own anger was boiling through my veins like lava. And I didn't care. "Think about the crewmen who died in the Expanse." He closed his eyes and staggered, and I instinctively knew that the beings plaguing the ship had found him. His head was pounding and his stomach was roiling as they took more and more from him as his emotions raged.

I knew because I felt the same throbbing in my head. My stomach was churning even as my blood pulsed furiously through my body.

"Trip," Callie's voice pierced the fog over my brain. "We've got enough."

I ignored her. "Think about Sim," I hissed. "About sentencing him to death."

His eyes snapped open, shock, guilt, and anger swirling in his expression. "Trip—"

"You want everyone to think you're perfect," I exploded. "The perfect captain flying around the galaxy in his perfect ship fitted with his daddy's warp engine. It must be a kick in the pants to have to face every day that you're not perfect. That you've gotten people killed. Left them stranded. Sent them to their deaths."

"Wait a minute—"

"Think about the Xindi." I was relentless. "Millions dead and you befriended them." I snorted. "You said we wouldn't be tiptoeing around. 'Whatever we have to do, Trip. Whatever it takes.' I guess it took kissing the collective ass of the very people who killed my baby sister."

"Trip, that's enough!" Callie interjected.

I rounded on her. "You're always going to defend him, aren't you?" My face was hot with rage as I pointed in the direction of the decon chamber. "He broke your heart, committed piracy, and caused the death of dozens, and you will still stand there and defend him. What the hell is the matter with you?"

And just as in T'Pol's quarters a few days before, dizziness sent me stumbling backwards. Malcolm caught me by the arm before I crashed into the bulkhead.

"Commander, you need to calm down," Phlox warned.

"Or what?" I shot back. It lost the effect I wanted when a slice of pain ripped through my head. I clawed at my temples, gasping. Then, as quickly as it appeared, the pain vanished. When I straightened, a fresh wave smashed into like a linebacker bent on murder. I stumbled into the bulkhead and crumpled to the floor.

Phlox was immediately at my side, running a medical scanner over me. I heard the decontamination room door slide open, and a second later felt the captain help me up. I paused for a moment while I waited for the room to stop spinning. "Or what?" I repeated, this time my voice soft and hoarse.

"Or Phlox and I will sedate you, Trip." Callie's voice had an undercurrent of frustration in her tone.

I stiffened and glared at her. "Is that a threat, _Counselor_?"

She closed her eyes, pinched the bridge of her nose and muttered under her breath. "No, _Commander_, it's a promise." Callie opened her eyes and held my gaze. "It's a promise that I will do everything in my power to keep you safe, even if it means knocking you out until we have a solution to this mess."

I scanned the room, hoping someone would step up to my defense. I was disappointed when no one—not even Malcolm—jumped in. Anger rose fresh inside when the captain took me by the arm.

"Trip, please," he almost pleaded. "Do what they ask."

Furious, I jerked my arm away. "Fine," I snapped. "If you need me, I'll be in the shuttlebay, trying to figure out the damned alien shuttle. Maybe it'll have some answers."

Jon called after me as I stormed out of the room, but I just couldn't find it in me to answer him.

* * *

><p><em>Jon<em>

Trip's tirade and abrupt departure left me reeling. My first instinct was to follow him and try to reason with him, but I knew he was in no mood to listen. Instead I sagged against the bulkhead and closed my eyes.

"You alright, Captain?"

Callie's voice pulled me out of my anxious thoughts. I offered her a half-hearted smile. "Tell me we at least got something useful out of all that."

"As a matter of fact, we did," Phlox responded. His eyes darted over the screen in front of him. "We were able to detect at least one of the creatures in the room with you during your elevated emotional state."

"I know that's what we wanted, but it doesn't make me feel much better." I shivered.

"We have a good idea what they're after," Callie interjected. She drew me over and pointed to the screen. "When we detected the being, there was a rush of epinephrine, cortisol, and adrenaline in your limbic system." Her gaze caught mine. "That's normal–it's what triggers the fight or flight response. But the intensity of the rush was incredible." She pointed to a number on the screen. "The hormone levels we're seeing are five times what they should be, even taking into account how upset you were."

My head spun under the information she was throwing at me, and for a moment I wished I'd paid closer attention in biology. "So this means...?"

"We believe the beings are attracted to–and drawing on–the chemicals released in the brain when an emotional response occurs." T'Pol scarcely glanced up from an instrument in her hands as she broke into the conversation.

I ran my hand over my face. "Does this bring us any closer to knowing how to defeat these things?"

Callie shrugged. "Sort of. Phlox and I are working on some theories to trap them. Maybe a synthetic hormone." A glance passed between her and the doctor, an unspoken conversation I could almost hear. "But we still don't know how to stop them."

"Perhaps I can be of assistance." T'Pol said. She stepped over to a control panel next to the decontamination room and began entering commands. "We know for certain one of the creatures was in the room with the captain. He left very quickly, and we can't be certain it was able to exit when he did. We know metron radiation makes the beings visible, so if you'll indulge me a moment." She fell silent, fingers flying over the controls. Finally, satisfied, she stepped back and gazed in the window.

As in her room, it didn't happen at first. Several seconds after T'Pol finished her commands, the chilling image of a shadowy figure appeared at the portal. It seemed to be staring at us from under the white shroud that covered it. Though it was silent and still, I had the overwhelming sense it was desperate to get out. I swallowed as it removed one arm from across its chest and held it out towards me, a waxy palm resting on the glass between us.

I instinctively took a step back. Just as impulsively Callie moved closer to me, her arms wrapped around herself. "What's it doing?" she asked in a hushed voice.

"It isn't visible under the radiation we're accustomed to, but that doesn't mean it has a non-corporeal body," T'Pol responded. "I do not believe it can pass through solid objects, such as the bulkhead." She glanced at Callie. "You and the doctor hypothesized as much when you attempted to lure one into the imaging chamber."

Callie took a tentative step closer to the window. "So we've caught ourselves a ghost." Her voice was scarcely a murmur, as if she'd forgotten the rest of us were in the room. "Who ya gonna call?"

Malcolm bit back a smile. "If this gentleman isn't going anywhere, we could take the opportunity to figure out his weaknesses."

"Study it?" Phlox's face lit up with curiosity. He clearly wanted to understand this creature.

"These creatures have killed one member of our crew and injured one other," Malcolm retorted. "They are giving every indication they have no intention of stopping. I don't think we have the time to spend figuring out a way to communicate with it this time, Doctor."

"So you think we should just kill it?" The doctor straightened, eyes flashing. "Without taking the time to find out why?"

Malcolm rolled his eyes. "Captain."

Ultimately the decision rested on my shoulders, and it wasn't one I took lightly. My instinct was to side with Malcolm; these creatures were a clear threat to the safety of my crew. But to destroy them could be to eliminate the last of the species. We knew nothing about them or where they came from. The explorer in me wanted to better understand them, to know why they had latched onto us as they did.

But just as it was on the tip of my tongue to ask Phlox to investigate further, Trip's face crossed my mind. This was only one of the beings throughout the ship. As long as they were loose—any of them—he was in d anger. Once they finished with him, they would move to the rest of us. I closed my eyes and exhaled.

"T'Pol?" I asked, desperate for another opinion.

She remained silent, her eyes filled with turmoil as she studied the creature. I knew she, too, was thinking of Trip and his safety. But I also trusted she could put her emotions aside and do what was best for the crew. "I understand the doctor's need to study these creatures. I, too, would like the opportunity. However, our first responsibility is to protect our crew." She met my eyes. "Lieutenant Reed is correct."

I exhaled. "Do what you have to do," I ordered hoarsely.

T'Pol seemed to hesitate as she lifted a hand to the console. "We've had success seeing the creatures by trying different bands of radiation. I would recommend using this tactic again to determine if another band would incapacitate the creatures."

I nodded and swallowed hard. "Do it."

She returned my nod and then stepped over to input further commands on the console. I closed my eyes and blew out a breath, and jumped when I felt a hand squeeze my arm. A quick glance down and I found Callie offering silent comfort. I covered her hand with mind and returned the pressure, grateful she understood just how difficult this was for me.

"Captain," Phlox suddenly called, urgency in his voice.

Callie and I both turned our attention to the portal. Inside, the creature seemed to be writhing in pain. I gripped Callie's hand on my forearm tighter as I watched the being recoil and rage against its agony. To my horror, it appeared to be transforming. It's waxy sheen began to take a dull appearance, as if the creature were being turned to stone. Like ice on the window, the effect spread rapidly over the being until its entire body was changed. And then without warning, it dissolved into a pile of dust in the center of the room.

None of us could speak for several minutes, all eyes transfixed on the window. It was T'Pol who managed to find her voice first. "Omicron radiation," she said softly. "Rare, but clearly effective."

The silence was heavy as we all processed what we had seen. "So we know how to beat them." Malcolm was the next to speak up. To his credit, he too sounded shaken. "But can we be sure doing so won't further put any of the crew in danger."

"Meaning?" I asked.

"If these beings are plugged in, for lack of a better term, to our brains and emotions, what will happen to an individual they are attached to when they die?"

Phlox, Callie, and T'Pol all seemed to recover somewhat from the sight and exchanged glances. I felt like an outsider in a silent exchange, their eyes contemplating the possibilities.

T'Pol's gaze fell to the instrument in her hand. "During Commander Tucker's tirade, there was a brief moment when he became extremely agitated and the creatures dropped off of our scanners."

The doctor gazed over her shoulder at the tricorder, his expression thoughtful. "Do you suppose the beings simply became overwhelmed and had to let go?"

"Like a leech," Callie mused, rubbing her thumb over her lower lip.

"Excuse me?" Malcolm asked.

"A leech. When they have drawn enough blood and are full to bursting, they let go." She was distracted, and I could almost see the wheels spinning in her mind. "Maybe these things work the same way. Trip was… He was more pissed off than I've ever seen him. Maybe it was too much for them." She brushed a lock of hair away from her cheek. "If we could somehow draw them all to Trip at once and catch them in a moment of overload—"

"We could hit them with a radiation burst and end them before they have a chance to attack again," Malcolm finished.

T'Pol spoke up. "By our estimates, there are five of the beings remaining on the ship. Someone would need to agitate Commander Tucker enough to draw them all in, and overwhelm them."

Callie responded immediately. "We need someone more objective, someone who can ignore the insults and hurtful words he's going to toss back. Otherwise, we're taking a risk in some of the beings switching to the other person. All of you—" She stopped and glanced around. "Everyone here was involved in the situations which have created this much hurt for Trip. No one else can distance themselves enough."

Again she, T'Pol, and Phlox exchanged glances. They seemed to come to a silent agreement.

"So, let me make sure I'm understanding this right," I began, glancing back and forth between my counselor, my doctor, and my science officer. "You want poke the proverbial bear until he blows up on you, and try to overload the beings so we can eliminate them?"

"Essentially, yes, Captain," Phlox replied.

I glanced at Callie. "Can you guarantee this will work?"

"Nope," she replied.

Not exactly encouraging. "If it doesn't work, what's the worst that could happen?"

"Would you like that list in alphabetical order, numerical order, or order of importance?" she asked.

I shot her a censoring glare. "Counselor—"

"I don't know, Captain," she threw back at me. She dragged her fingers through her hair in frustration. "We don't have enough information to be able to give you a solid answer as to exactly what is going to happen. It could be nothing happens and we're back to square one. It could be these things completely fry the commander's brain when they let go. We just don't know. But I believe this is the best shot we have."

I took a deep breath. "Best guess, what do you think will happen?"

"Best guess, I think we'll overload the beings and they'll let him go. Then we can hit them with a blast of omicron radiation and call it a day. If our theory is correct, then Trip's limbic system will be firing on high for a few days, which means he'll be an emotional mess. But…" She hesitated. "Captain, I'm not sure that's such a bad thing at this point."

"Meaning?" I asked.

"The counselor and I have had lengthy discussions about this," Phlox interjected. He paused, and I could tell he was trying to put his thoughts into layman's terms. "When a physician is presented with a festering wound, most of the time the best course of action is to open the wound and allow the infection within to release. It is painful, but it's best for the patient in the end and they will heal much faster than if the infection were left to its own devices."

"You think this will lance the wound for Trip, so to speak."

"Yes," Callie replied. "Hell, it can't make things any worse."

I was left with an impossible decision. Authorize this plan, and Trip could suffer. Don't authorize it, he definitely will suffer.

Even more, if I went along with this I was essentially issuing the execution of five unknown creatures.

Callie's and Phlox's words tumbled through my head, leaving me more uncertain than I already was. I needed some guidance. A solid anchor to help me make this decision. And so, I turned to T'Pol. "What do you think?"

"The doctor and the counselor have reasoned out the most logical conclusion given the information that we have," she replied. My eyes never left hers as I waited for her to continue. "I also believe that the counselor would not put Commander Tucker in a dangerous situation if she had another option. Neither would I."

I closed my eyes and nodded. "Alright. Let's do it."

Malcolm, who had remained silent for this entire exchange, shifted uneasily. "Sir, should we perhaps send in a security team as well."

"I really don't think that'll be necessary, Lieutenant," I replied.

"But, sir, given the commander's mental state—"

"Trip is acting on emotions already there," Callie put in. "You know that filter in your brain? The one that stops you before you blurt out every single little thing that pops in your mind? Right now, he has no filter. If he feels it or thinks it, it's amplified and he can't control it. But it's not in Trip's nature to intentionally hurt someone unless he has no choice. I don't think he's a danger to anyone."

"And I'll go in with her," I spoke up. I held up a hand as Malcolm started to protest. "The counselor will talk him down, and I'll release the radiation burst. Wait outside, Lieutenant. That's an order."

"Yes, sir," Malcolm replied, his dissatisfaction clear.

"You ready?" I asked Callie.

"As I'll ever be," she replied, sighing. She turned to Phlox. "Be on standby," she requested.

He held up his medical tricorder. "I will be waiting with bated breath, counselor," he replied.

Callie closed her eyes and took a deep breath. I knew this would be as difficult for her as it would be for me, but our backs were against the wall. We were out of options. "Let's go," she said.


	13. Chapter 12

_**Author's Notes:**__ Sorry for the delay. I just completed a move to a different state, so life has been hectic!_

_**Chapter Twelve**_

_Trip_

This damned alien ship was driving me crazy. For days I tried to make sense of it, staring at the instrument panels until I was nearly cross-eyed. If Phlox knew I hadn't slept in nearly two days, he would have harped on me to go and sleep. Relieve me of duty, as he'd done before. For all I knew, he and Callie were probably debating whether or not to do it anyway, especially after my outburst in the decontamination chamber.

The idea that they were discussing me gnawed at me, and so I turned to the craft for a distraction. Instead, the thing annoyed me. It should make sense. When nothing else in the universe made sense, an engine did. But the layout of the engine and the ship's systems was all foreign to me. I rubbed my eyes with the back of my hand and squinted at the panel I was squatting in front of. Maybe if I—

"Hey, Tucker," a familiar voice called out.

I groaned and closed my eyes, resting my forehead on the panel. Callie. Our earlier argument was still fresh in my mind, and I was in no mood to be dealing with our over-enthusiastic ship's counselor. Grumbling, I tossed aside my hyperspanner and stood, stepping out of the pod. "Yeah?" I replied, folding my arms over my chest.

"We need to talk," she said, stepping close to me.

"Callie, I'm in no mood right now." I turned away and made a move for the small craft.

"You're never in the mood these days," she countered. "Trip, look at yourself. You're a mess. You don't sleep, you don't eat—"

"And it's none of your concern." Anger pulsed through my veins as I spun around to face her. "It hasn't been any of your damn concern for seventeen years. So butt out, _counselor_."

She flinched. I'd hit a nerve, and I both regretted and relished in it. A surge of adrenaline pumped through my veins as hot fury boiled up within me, calling to the surface all of the frustrations I'd been feeling for months. I was a pressure cooker on the brink of exploding.

And I was powerless to stop it.

Callie kept her cool. "Just because we're not involved doesn't mean I don't care, Trip," she said evenly. "We've always been friends. And you have a lot of other friends here on the ship—"

"Friends?" I snorted. "What friends?" My face burned with the rage that was getting hotter. "Where were they when I needed them? Jon, my so-called _best friend_. Where was he when I needed a friend? When I lost my sister and needed someone to lean on? He was so wrapped up in his own damn problems he couldn't take a minute to check on his dear old friend Trip."

"Trip—"

"I'm not done! Let's move on to Malcolm. When I needed a friend, he was too busy getting into a pissing contest with Major Hayes to notice I was drowning. He didn't care. "He just wanted to prove he had the bigger dick."

She arched a brow. "I hardly think that's fa—"

"Shut up!" I was shouting and I didn't care. The words and emotions were pouring out of me, and deep down it felt like some part of me was begging me to go on. "I said I'm not finished. Dammit, I'm going to say this, so just. Shut. Up."

Callie took a step back, and I pushed harder.

"Travis and Hoshi? They were so focused on just getting home they didn't think about me. Phlox?" I snorted and glanced away. "He went and made a damn clone of me. Hey, Trip's replaceable. We'll just make a spare."

My voice dropped, taking on a tone I didn't even recognize. "And let's not forget T'Pol." An outraged cry echoed somewhere deep inside, a place I didn't even know existed. I kicked the pod door and threw a hyperspanner across the room, enjoying the satisfying sound of it bouncing off of a cargo container. "T'Pol, who pretended to care, who spent months helping me through it, helping me sleep, and all the while jerking my emotions around like a fucking yo-yo."

I whirled to face her again and was enraged by the calm expression on her face. "I poured my heart out to her, and she compared me to a lab rat. I was an experiment. She had me so mixed up I gave up the one thing I'd worked my whole damned career for and moved on to the Columbia."

Frustrated, I slammed my fist into the pod, the explosion of pain in my hand barely registering over the surging adrenaline pumping through my veins. "When I came back, I thought maybe—just maybe—we had a chance. But dammit, when I needed her the most—when we _lost our daughter_—she wouldn't, _couldn't_ be there for me." I spun around, the blood pounding in my head as I faced Callie again. "I needed her and she walked away."

The compassion in her dark eyes only fueled the fire and I let out a frustrated cry. "I—" I stopped short and suddenly reached for the pod to steady myself as a burst of pain ripped through my head. "Nggghhh…" I groaned.

Callie glanced at something up over my head. "Trip?" she asked, hesitantly.

For an instant, the pain faded. I pushed myself to a full stand. "Callie, I—" Blinding pain slammed through my head in one long, sickening wave. Falling to my knees, I cried out, my palms at my temples. Screams echoed in my ears. "GRAAAAH! STOP!"

"Now, Jon!" I heard Callie shout. For a moment the pain intensified, and I curled up against it, my fingers ripping at my hair as I grew desperate for it to stop.

And then there was blessed silence.

I stayed curled up there in the cargo bay floor, dizzy, nauseous, with flashes of pain still dancing through my skull. I wasn't sure how long I laid there. Hours? Days? Probably only a few seconds. Mercifully, a pair of gentle hands helped me up.

"It's okay, Trip," Callie whispered. "It's alright."

I wrapped my arms around her waist and buried my face in her shoulder. She slid her arms around me in response, pulling me tighter against her as if to shield me from what had just happened. I stayed in her arms, my emotions a swirling mess as my chest constricted. I gripped Callie's shirt with white-knuckled fists. Tears stung in my eyes and I fought them with everything I had left—which wasn't much.

Callie dipped her head, pressed her cheek to my temple and murmured. "It's okay, Trip. Let it out."

That did me in. My whole body shuddered as the emotions hit me like a tidal wave, and I gave into tears that I'd been holding onto for years.

* * *

><p><em>Callie<em>

I held Trip for what seemed like hours. He clung to me, sobs shaking his muscular frame as he curled against me like a child. I'd always known when he finally crashed, he was going to land hard. Still, I wasn't prepared for the intensity of the breakdown. I glanced up when Jon stepped over from the instrument panel where he'd released the omicron radiation. He'd heard everything, and Trip was unaware. Maybe that was for the best.

Hurt and guilt were written in Jon's eyes as he looked down at his friend. It was clear he wanted to talk to Trip but knew now was not the time. "Why don't you go get Phlox," I said quietly when he met my gaze.

Jon nodded and gave Trip one last anguished look before heading over to the door to let Phlox in.

Trip had settled by now, his choked sobs dying out. "Phox is coming," I told him. "He'll check you over to make sure you're not hurt." He nodded against my shoulder.

Phlox arrived, his expression somber. "How is he?" he asked, running his medical tricorder over Trip.

"I think he's had better days."

"Preliminary scans show he's holding up remarkably well, but I'd like to get him to sickbay to give him a full neural scan," Phlox said.

I glanced down at Trip. "If the neural scan checks out, then we release him to his quarters and put him to bed. He needs rest and privacy."

"We'll talk about it in sickbay," Phlox replied. Our eyes met, and I knew we were going to disagree. Phlox would want to keep Trip in sickbay, and I would want to let him retreat to his quarters. I arched my eyebrow pointedly at him.

I rubbed my hand over Trip's back. "Trip," I said quietly, and gently tried to help him to a sitting position. "Come on. Let's get you to sickbay so Phlox can take a closer look at you."

Reluctantly, he released me and sat up. His eyes were swollen, his cheeks red. He heaved a shuddering sigh and looked at the three of us. "I'm sorry," he managed, wiping his eyes with his palm.

Jon once again squatted next to us. "No need to apologize, Trip," he said, understanding in his voice. "Let's get the doc to take a look at you, and then get you some sleep. You'll feel better after."

Trip allowed us to help him to his feet. Slowly, we made our way to the door and I slipped my arm around Trip's waist to steady him. He glanced at me, gratitude in his eyes, and dropped an arm around my shoulders. Malcolm and T'Pol waited on the other side of the shuttle bay doors, but Trip pushed by them without so much as a glance. I saw the hurt in Malcolm's eyes and I knew he was sure Trip was angry with him. I had no idea if they'd heard what happened inside the shuttle bay. I knew, though, Trip was embarrassed by his outburst and wasn't ready to face anyone.

The four of us arrived in sickbay, and Trip took a quick look around. He stared for a long moment at one corner of the room, transfixed. Jon and Phlox exchanged a glance and Jon clapped Trip on the shoulder. "Stretch out now, and let Phlox do his thing," he coaxed. Trip nodded, climbed on the biobed, and pressed his fingers to his eyes as he slipped back into the scanner.

"Has he—?" Jon started to ask Phlox.

The doctor shook his head. "He has managed to avoid sickbay since then. I should have thought…" He trailed off as he looked at the readout from the scanner. "Perhaps you're right, counselor," he said quietly. "I'm not sure sickbay would be the best place for him, given his state of mind."

"What are you talking about?" I glanced back and forth between the two of them.

Jon gave Trip an unreadable look before he pulled me aside. "The last time Trip was in sickbay," he said slowly, "he was holding his daughter when she died."

I swore under my breath. "Dammit, Jon," I hissed. "Why didn't you tell me? We could have examined him in his quarters."

"I didn't even think about it." Jon's tone was apologetic, fresh guilt in his eyes. "Callie, I don't want to see him hurting any more than you do. We'll get him out of here as quickly as we can."

He laced his fingers with mine, squeezing back. I bit my lip, torn between wanting to linger in this moment with Jon and my concern for Trip. Trip won out in the end. I released Jon's hand and joined Phlox, tossing a final glance back at Jon before turning to the scanner data. I struggle to keep my voice normal as I said, "It looks like his neural pathways are intact."

Phlox nodded. "His limbic system is still very active, so his emotional responses will be heightened for several days while it stabilizes. However, I'm in agreement that the best place for him right now is in his quarters."

I turned to face him. "If T'Pol is right—that things on his mind bother him more when he's sleeping, then I don't want him alone tonight." I paused, gazing into the scanner at Trip's restless form. "I'll stay with him."

Jon shot me a look. "Is that a good idea, counselor?" Uncertainty flooded his voice. "I could stay with him."

I hesitated, my tongue running over my lips. "I don't think he would be thrilled with your company right now, Jonathan," I replied gently.

Resignation fell over his face. "I'll arrange for a cot." Jon squeezed my arm before stepping out.

"I'll get you a hypospray, counselor," Phlox put in. "He'll need an analgesic. I'm sure he has a headache. And I'll add a little something for nausea, as that is not uncommon for someone who has been through a mental and emotional trauma of this magnitude."

I nodded absently as I studied the display. "Can you add a little something to help him sleep?"

"Excellent idea," Phlox said and turned to prepare the hypospray.

I pressed the button to pull the biobed out of the scanner. Slowly, it slid out revealing Trip, who was lying with an arm over his face. "Hey." I helped him sit up. "You and I are going to walk down to your quarters, you are going to take a long, hot shower, I'm going to give you a hypospray of something for your head, and then you are going to bed."

He nodded but didn't meet my eyes. "Just get me out of here."

Phlox joined us and slipped a hypospray into my hand. "Come on." I squeezed Trip's arm. He stood, glanced once more to the corner, choked back a sob, and let me lead him from the room and down the corridor to his quarters.

Once inside, I retrieved some comfortable clothes from his closet. "Go take a hot shower." I handed him the clothes. "Trip, you'll feel better and it'll give you a minute to yourself. I'll be here when you come out. I promise I'm not going anywhere."

He hesitated for a moment, and then nodded. "Yeah, alright," he finally replied, and wordlessly stepped into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.

I let out a long breath, sinking into a chair as soon as he was out of sight. The weight of everything sagged my shoulders, and I dropped my head into my hands. I didn't know how long I sat there, trying to make sense of what Trip had gone through—what he was still going through. I thought of the guilt in Jon's eyes after he had committed murder to save his friend—and not for the first time. I'd been so confident that I had all the answers when I boarded the _Enterprise_, but I didn't have a damn clue what I was getting into.

The door chimed, startling me out of my thoughts. I crossed the small cabin, and with a quick glance toward the bathroom, answered the door.

It was Jon, wheeling a cot in front of him. "I hope you don't mind, but I slipped into your quarters and found you something a little more comfortable to wear," he said, nodding towards the top of the cot. On it was my favorite old Yale sweatshirt and a pair of matching sweats. Gratefully, I smiled at him and helped him wheel the cot into the room. Once it was stowed behind the desk, Jon looked around. "Where is he?"

"I sent him to take a shower," I replied. "I thought he might feel better and sleep better if he did. Besides," I added with a one-shoulder shrug, "I thought he might need a couple of minutes to himself."

He nodded. "Probably a good idea." He sat on the edge of the desk, pensive and looking overwhelmed by the entire ordeal. "Callie, the things he said…" he murmured, the guilt and hurt evident in his tone. "He meant those things."

I sighed and leaned back next to him. "I think he was probably a bit more brutal than he meant to be," I said softly. "As I said, those beings interfered with his ability to filter. But," I glanced up at him, "I think it's clear you two have some things you need to talk about."

"I feel like I've been a lousy friend," Jon sighed. "He's been drowning for more than a year, and I was too wrapped up in my own problems to notice how bad it had gotten."

"Trip isn't exactly the kind of person who is going to come right out and say he's in a bad way." I laced my fingers comfortingly through Jon's. "He's more likely to try to handle it himself, and bottle it all up until he explodes."

"I know, but—" Jon cut off when the bathroom door slid open.

Trip stepped into the room, his hair damp. He wore grey sweats instead of his uniform. He glanced at us with red-rimmed eyes, and I dropped Jon's hand like it had suddenly burst into flames. It didn't seem right to be holding hands with the captain when Trip was suffering.

"You okay?" Jon asked him.

Trip sighed, closing his eyes. "No," he replied. "My head hurts, my body aches, I'm an emotional basket-case, and dammit my hand hurts."

"Get some rest," Jon said. "You'll feel better after you've slept."

Trip opened his eyes and glanced at the bed. "I'm not sure I can sleep."

"I can help with that." I held up the hypospray Phlox had given me.

He eyed it warily. "No sedatives," he replied. "They don't help."

I gently nudged him towards the bed. "Phlox says it's an analgesic for the headache, a little something for nausea—which is pretty common after an emotional breakdown like that—and something to help calm you." His eyes met mine, reluctance plain in them. "Trip, your limbic system is still working in overdrive, so your emotions are going to be in upheaval for a while. This will help counteract it so you can rest."

He closed his eyes and nodded, dropping onto the edge of the bed. "I don't have the energy to argue. Just do what you have to."

Jon caught my gaze, concern reflected in his face. This wasn't Trip. Our Trip would vehemently argue, digging his heels into the deck plating if he didn't want to do something. But he was exhausted. I glanced between Jon and the door with a raised brow, hoping he would get the message.

He did. He squeezed Trip's shoulder, and started towards the door. "I'm going to head out, give you space to get some rest." He shot me a look of his own. "Call me if you need anything—I don't care what time it is."

"Night Jon," I called. Trip only nodded.

"Night." Jon slipped from the room.

Too tired and defeated to argue with me, Trip stretched out, pulling the blankets up over his hips. He turned his head as I sat down on the edge of his bed and allowed me to press the hypospray to his neck, resting arm across his forehead.

He laid still for so long I was sure he had fallen asleep, until another sob ripped from his chest. I sighed, I sighed. "Easy, Trip. Just relax."

"I'm sorry," he choked. "I just can't seem to—"

"I know. Trip, you don't have to apologize."

He took a deep, shuddering breath. "It's those…creatures."

"To some degree, yes. But they just amplified what was already there. You've been holding on to some of this for a long time. Trip, I've read your personnel file." I sighed and watched him, searching for some remnant of the boy I once knew. "My only surprise is this hasn't happened sooner."

He gave a bitter laugh. "Sometimes it feels like God or the fates or something is out to get me." He rubbed his palms into his eyes.

"I'm sorry for taking you to sickbay," I said softly. "If I'd known—"

He bit his lip, his hands dropping. "I was lying there on the bed, and I could feel her in my arms. Snuggled against my chest. I could feel… I remembered…"

I regretted bringing it up. "Easy, easy," I soothed. "Enough talk." My tone was gentle but firm. "You need sleep, Trip."

His eyes snapped open and looked up at me, his expression pleading. "I know I don't have the right to ask, but…please don't leave."

I nodded over towards the cot. "Jon brought that for me to sleep on. If you need me tonight, I'm right here. I promise, Trip, I won't leave you."

He nodded, closing his eyes. After a few minutes he went limp, his breathing growing deep and even.

I watched him sleep for a while. He looked so young, so vulnerable, the tearstains still evident on his cheeks. I wished I had a magic wand I could wave and erase the toll the last two years had taken on him. Once I was sure he was completely gone, I slowly stood. He frowned briefly, and then rolled away from me.

I stepped over to the window, staring for a long time out at the passing stars. Resting my forehead against the bulkhead, I bit my lip as a tear of my own slid down my cheek.


	14. Chapter 13

_**Author's Note:**__ I'm leaving tomorrow for a ten-day trip to the beach. I'll be taking my writing with me, but no guarantees that I'll have time to do anything with it._

**Chapter Thirteen**

_Trip_

My head still hurt, even after what I assumed were a couple of hours of sleep. I opened my eyes and snapped them shut again, groaning as I buried my head under the pillows. Even the dim light in the room was too much. I contemplated the consequences of just staying in bed all day but realized there was no way I could do that.

For starters, I really had to pee.

Bracing myself, I sat up and looked around the room.

True to her word, Callie was still there. She was seated at my desk, her feet propped up and a data PADD in her hand. She looked over at me and smiled. "Morning," she said.

"Hold that thought," I replied and quickly made my way to the bathroom. When I re-entered the room a few minutes later, I'd brushed my teeth and comb my hair. Though, those simple tasks had taken a lot out of me. I sank back onto my bed and leaned back, my head against the wall. "What time is it?" I asked tiredly.

She glanced at the chronometer on my desk. "A little after eleven hundred." She laid the PADD aside.

It had been around twenty-hundred when I'd fallen asleep by my best guess. "So I've been asleep for fifteen hours?" I was stunned. I don't think I'd ever slept that long in my life.

"More or less." She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. "How are you feeling?"

"Honestly? I feel like I have the flu." I ran my hand over my face. "I feel achy, and my head hurts." I sighed. "I still feel…raw."

She nodded sympathetically. "You probably will for a few days. It's not uncommon to have some physical symptoms to go along with an emotional collapse like you had last night."

I closed my eyes and rubbed the bridge of my nose. "Those critters packed a hell of a punch," I muttered.

"Trip, it's like I said last night, they put you through the wringer, but they didn't create anything that wasn't already there. They just amplified it."

I winced. "Was the cap'n in the cargo bay when I blew up?"

"He was." Callie nodded, her expression unreadable. "He slipped into the shuttle bay to hit the beings with omicron radiation, which took them out."

I felt like I'd been punched in the gut. "So he heard everything." I my eyes with the back of my hand. "I feel like such a jerk. He must hate me now."

"He doesn't hate you," she replied. "He feels guilty and hurt, but he doesn't hate you. I told him last night that I thought you two probably have a lot to talk about, but…" A gentle smile tugged at her lips. "I think you can work through it."

I stared down at my hands. "I do," I finally said. "And I think I need some help doing it. Because workin' through it on my own isn't exactly pannin' out the best."

Callie glanced down. "Trip, I can't be your counselor. I'm too close. I can't be unbiased where you're concerned." Her eyes met mine again and she smiled. "But I can be your friend." She paused, thoughtful. "I haven't been here for most of the events that you've mentioned that have brought you to this point. I wasn't involved. I can be an objective ear to listen to you and help you work through it. So while I can't be your counselor, an ear to listen, and a shoulder to cry on. If you want me to."

I swallowed the lump in my throat and nodded. "Yeah," I managed. "I think I need you."

"Let's start by getting some food in you." She stood and stepped over to the comm panel. "You'll need your strength. I'll call down and see if Chef can send something up."

"You do that, and I'm gonna go grab a quick shower." I still felt grimy and sticky, and a long, hot shower sounded good. I grabbed a clean set of clothes from the closet and headed into the bathroom. When the door slid closed behind me, I turned on the shower as hot as I could stand it and stripped down.

The near-scalding water felt wonderful on my achy muscles, and for a long time I just stood under the jets. I folded my arms on the wall and leaned my forehead on them, letting stream pound onto my back. As good as it felt, the shower had just been an excuse. The truth was I just needed a minute to myself.

I spent a good, long while in the shower, replaying my outburst in the shuttlebay in my mind. Part of me was disgusted with myself for saying those things about people I cared about. On the other hand, it was a relief to get some of it off my chest. Eventually I'd have to face Jon and talk about it, and I dreaded that. The things that had popped out of my mind must have been a slap to the face for him. Just thinking about it filled me with guilt.

Despite my remorse, the shower had felt fantastic and I did feel a little better once I'd finished. I finally turned off the taps, grabbed a towel and stepped out, drying myself off as I strode across the room to the sink. I used the towel to wipe off the steam from the mirror and stared at my reflection.

I cringed, a sinking feeling in my gut when I really took a look for the first time in weeks. I'd lost weight, and there were dark circles under my eyes. It was obvious to everyone I hadn't been taking care of myself. I'd known it, but hadn't cared enough to do anything about it. What had happened to me? Had I really let it get that bad?

Sighing, I pulled on my clothes and then stepped back into my room.

Once again Callie was engrossed in her data PADD, but this time a large covered tray was sitting in front of her on the desk. Enticed by the smell of good food, I stepped over and lifted the cover. "Chicken noodle soup and pecan pie," I murmured, picking up the warm bowl and easing back down on my bed.

"Chef said he heard that you were a bit under the weather and thought you could use a little comfort food."

"Tell him I said thanks." I stared into the bowl and stirred the soup idly. "Callie, I know I said I wanted you to help me work through this, but I don't even know where to start."

"Let's start with the smaller stuff and work up," she suggested. "Of all the things that you listed last night, what is the least troubling?"

I thought about it long and hard as I took another bite of my soup. "Malcolm, I guess." I took a deep breath, and the floodgates opened.

Over the next few hours, I poured out my heart to Callie. We talked about Malcolm and the MACO's. About stealing a warp reactor from another ship in the Expanse. About my last visit with my parents, and how I'd worried and upset them with my actions. I didn't stop talking even when a steward brought dinner—chicken tetrazzini. After filling my belly and emptying my heart, I felt somewhat better.

Setting my empty plate on the desk, I glanced at Callie and took a deep breath. "I want to talk to the cap'n," I said. I tensed as soon as the words left my mouth.

She raised a brow. "Only if you're sure, Trip," she said gently. "I'm happy to go get him. But you don't have to talk to anyone until you're damn good and ready."

I smiled faintly. "I appreciate you lookin' out for me, but I want to. Besides, what would you do if he ordered you to let him talk to me?"

"As I have pointed out to him a couple of times, I am one of two people on this ship who can relieve him of duty if I really want to."

"You don't want to do that. Phlox says it's a helluva lot of paperwork."

Callie chuckled. "You're sure you want to talk to him?"

I nodded slowly. "I need to. For better or worse, he's the best friend I've got. I feel like if things are good between us, I can face the worst of it."

"Okay." She stood, pausing in front of me to squeeze my shoulder. "I'll call him."

* * *

><p><em>Jon<em>

Alpha shift ended more than an hour ago, and I'd had the steward send my dinner up to my ready room. I sat, staring blankly at the star chart on my terminal.

It hadn't been a good day. I'd been short with the crew for most of the day before I finally sequestered myself to my ready room to avoid snapping at anyone else. They'd been forgiving. They knew I was worried about Trip. We all were. When I tried to see Trip that morning, Callie refused to let me in. As far as she was concerned, no one was going to speak to Trip until he was damn good and ready. I understood that. Respected it.

But I didn't like it.

Sighing, I rubbed my forehead and stood. Porthos was waiting, likely anxious for a walk around the ship. I kept the poor guy cooped up far too much. I figured it was time to throw in the towel for the day and spend a quiet evening with him.

"Counselor to Captain Archer."

The comm rang out just as I reached the door. I hit the button on my comm terminal, my heart thumping just a bit faster. "Go ahead."

"Captain, Commander Tucker would like to speak with you, if you have a minute."

Relief washed over me. Things couldn't be too bad if Trip wanted to see me. "I'll be right down, counselor. Just give me a few minutes."

I paused long enough to make arrangements for Porthos to spend the evening with Phlox. With that taken care of, I stepped out of my ready room and made my way through the bridge and into the turbolift to E Deck.

It took me just a few minutes to arrive at Trip's door. I took a deep breath to gather my nerve, and then pressed the call button. A second later, Callie answered the door. "Come on in, Captain." She stepped aside to let me in.

Trip was seated on his bed, his legs folded in front of him. Despite sleeping an inordinate amount of time the night before, he still looked exhausted. "Hey, Trip," I said cautiously.

"Cap'n." His tone was full of reserve. There was a mix of emotions in his eyes, guilt, and grief topping the list.

"Trip." I shook my head. "We're off-duty. You can call me Jon."

He looked relieved and nodded, some of the tension draining out of his shoulders. Callie glanced back and forth between us, inching her way to the door. "I'll leave you two alone to talk, if that's okay."

Panic briefly flicked through Trip's eyes. "If you could stay?" He was almost begging. "Please?"

Indecision flickered in her eyes, but she relented. "Alright. But this conversation is all you."

I sat down on the chair at Trip's desk, and Callie perched in a chair in the corner.

"Cap—" Trip started, and then corrected himself. "Jon, I owe you an apology. I know you were in the cargo bay when I lost it." He shook his head. "I didn't mean the things I said. Those creatures—"

I cut him off and held up a hand. "Trip, there is no need to apologize. The beings—whatever they were—didn't create anything. They just amplified it."

"So I've been told." He glanced at Callie.

I smiled. "So I you might not have meant to say them, but that doesn't mean you didn't feel them." His eyes dropped to his hands and I continued. "But don't apologize. You have some justification for feeling that way."

He gazed at me for a moment and then sighed. "I don't even know what to say."

"Tell me what you're thinking."

He took a deep, steadying breath. "I feel like I've lost my best friend," he said slowly. "We used to hang out when we were off duty; watchin' water polo, shootin' baskets in the gym, playin' pool. But now? I spend time with Malcolm, and you spend time with Porthos. Or T'Pol." There was a note of bitterness in his tone at the mention of my first officer, and I chose to let it go. "I feel like things haven't been the same between you and me since the incident with the Vissians." He held up a hand to stop me from interrupting. "I don't question one bit that you were within your rights as my captain to dress me down for that. I needed that kick in the ass. I screwed up. I get that. But…" His eyes met mine, and there was a pleading expression in them. "It felt like that went beyond Captain to Chief Engineer, and spread over to Jon to Trip. It felt like my screw-up cost me my best friend."

I was quiet for a long time as I processed what Trip had said. Part of me felt guilty. Trip looked so young and vulnerable right now, and to a point he was right—things hadn't been the same between us since that incident.

Finally, I spoke, careful to keep my tone gentle. "As your captain, I won't apologize for what happened with the cogenitor," I said slowly. "I feel like you needed to go through that. Before that incident, you were rash, impulsive, and never thought things through. That incident caused you to grow up and become a better officer. You think before you react, and you're more conscious of the example that you set for your subordinates."

His eyes dropped and Trip nodded.

"But as your friend, I was a little harder on you than you deserved. To a point, I did let it spill over to our friendship. I was angry." I took a deep breath. "I had made a friend of the Vissian captain, and I hated to lose that friendship. But I let it sour a friendship that I already had, probably the most important one I have on this ship. So Trip." I leaned forward. "I'm sorry."

He sat quietly for a minute, and I could tell that he was fighting for control. "It's okay, Cap'n," he said softly. "I just…" He trailed off.

"I know." I glanced at Callie to see how I was doing, she gave me an encouraging nod. So far, so good. "I was angry. And I held you at arm's length for a while so I could cool off. And then, just when I was starting to pull it together, all hell broke loose in our lives."

"The Expanse."

I nodded. "That was…" I searched for the right words. "Those days were hell for all of us. You were struggling to come to grips with losing your sister, and I almost literally had the weight of the world on my shoulders. If we failed—if I failed as a captain—our entire species would be wiped out. I let that responsibility consume me. I tuned everyone out." I stood, pacing the floor restlessly. "Trip, you know as well as I do that things happened during that time which none of us are proud of."

"Yeah." Trip sighed. "What happened with the Illyrians and their warp coil still bothers me."

"Me, too," I admitted. "That wasn't one of my finer moments in command."

"Or mine as an engineer." Trip ran his hands over his face.

I sat back down and leaned forward, my elbows on my knees. "We all did and said things we're not proud of. Part of me wishes we could just find a way to erase our memories of those days. But we learn from our mistakes. It's part of what makes us who we are now."

Trip leaned back against his pillows, picking at his blanket. "I'm not so sure I like who I am these days."

I glanced at Callie. I could see the sympathy in her eyes, and I knew that she was resisting the urge to console him.

"Trip." I paused, making sure he was looking me in the eye. "You were drowning for a long time and I didn't see it. I was too caught up in my own problems to see that yours were overwhelming you. I should have been there for you." Fresh guilt welled up in me.

Trip sighed. "Phlox conned T'Pol into bein' there for me The neuropressure and relaxation techniques she taught me helped—for a while. But then…" He swiped at his eyes. "Then I was thrown across engineering and you cloned me—_cloned_ me, for god's sake. Jon, I swear I always thought one of me was almost too much for the universe to handle."

I chuckled at his feeble attempt at a joke.

"The whole thing with Sim made things complicated with T'Pol, and that just made the whole damn situation even more stressful than it already was," he said. "I couldn't talk to T'Pol, or you, or Phlox or, hell, anyone about Sim. Because everyone was talking about how big of a hero he was for saving my life. And don't get me wrong—I was damn grateful. But I can't tell you how it felt to stand there in the armory, staring at my own face in that casket with my head spinning my stomach churning and knowing that it should have been me in there. And I didn't have a damn person who was willing to talk to me about it."

I sighed, closing my eyes. "Ah, Trip…" I murmured. "I'm so sorry."

He bit his lip. "I felt like I'd been replaced. Hey, Trip might not make it, so let's just make a spare."

"He wasn't you." The words came out sharper than I intended. He snapped to silence, startled by the intensity of my outburst. "He wasn't you." This time I said it gently. "I'm going to tell you something that I've never said to anyone. Hell, I can barely admit it to myself. Trip, I used the ship as an excuse. I used the mission as an excuse. The fact is that deep down, I was selfish. Phlox gave me an out to save you and I took it. Partly because I didn't trust _Enterprise_ in the hands of anyone else, but mostly because I couldn't stand the thought of losing you."

Trip blinked. "What?" he finally managed, astonished.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Callie raise a brow. "Whatever has happened over the last couple of years, Trip, you are still the best friend I have." I stopped, trying to put what I was feeling into words. "I never had siblings growing up. It was just me. I guess over the years I've come to look at you as the younger brother that I never had. I always enjoy hanging out with you and sharing a laugh. I can talk to you about anything. We have our ups and downs, and there are times that I'd really like to strangle you." He grinned faintly. "But when the going gets tough, I know that you're always going to be there for me. Over the last couple of years, I've taken that for granted. I haven't been the friend to you that you've been to me."

Trip swallowed several times. "Well," he finally managed, "you could start by mixing up the water polo matches with a few football games."

I chuckled and reached out to clap Trip on the shoulder. I think he surprised us both when he grabbed my hand and pulled me into a bear hug. I hugged him tightly for a long moment, and then glanced a bit helplessly at Callie who moved forward and sat next to Trip on the bed. As a whole, men are uncomfortable with emotional displays. I'm no exception. With Callie's hand on his arm, Trip finally pulled back and smiled at me. "Thanks, Cap'n."

I took a deep breath. "Now, there's something I'd like to get off of my chest," I said slowly.

Trip glanced at Callie and then back to me, wariness in his eyes. "What's that?"

I gazed at him, and I know the hurt was reflected in my eyes. "When you left for the _Columbia_," I began, and he averted his gaze. "I didn't know why, and I still don't. You've refused to talk about it any time I've brought it up. I've wondered all this time if it was something I'd done or said. It hurt. First that you were upset enough to leave, and more importantly that you couldn't talk to me about it."

Trip licked his lips and stared down at his bed for a minute. "You really wanna know?" he asked, his tone a bit sheepish.

"Yeah, I would," I said, gently.

He looked up at me, this time guilt in his own eyes. "I left over a woman," he said.

Callie rolled her eyes and stood. "On that note…"

Trip held up a hand and shushed her. "Things were awkward between T'Pol and me after she married Koss." He blushed, glancing away. "When we were in the Expanse we had a…fling."

I furrowed my brow. "How did I miss that?"

"As you've pointed out, you were a bit wrapped up in yourself."

"Point taken."

"It just got too difficult to work with her. It was interfering with my ability to do what I needed to do. So I left. But then I missed _Enterprise_ and everyone here so much that I asked to come back." He looked chagrined. "I didn't want to tell you because I figured you'd call me a coward for tuckin' tail and runnin' because of a woman."

"Damn right I would have," I replied. "And then I would have poured you some bourbon and helped you drown your sorrows. Next time you're fretting over a woman, tell me."

"Yes, sir," he replied, stretching out. He glanced up at me. "Jon, I'm sorry. For everythin'."

"Let's just put it all behind us, and move forward." I could see that the day had drained him, emotionally and physically.

"Okay, Trip," Callie said gently. "I think that's enough for today."

"I—" Trip began, and then sighed and sank back against his pillows. "You're probably right," he admitted. He threw an arm up over his eyes.

"Here." She moved to sit next to him on the bed and rested a hypospray against his neck. "This will help."

"What is it?" Trip asked hoarsely. He lowered his arm just enough to peer up at her with a tired suspicion.

"It'll help you relax and sleep," she replied as pressed the hypospray to his neck.

Trip didn't argue. Instead, he rolled over onto his side and faced Callie, tucking one hand under his pillow. Within minutes, he was sound asleep.

Callie watched him for a few moments to ensure that he was indeed asleep before she quietly stood, dragging her fingers through her hair. "He'll probably sleep for hours." She glanced back at him. "That's what he needs the most."

I nodded, and then stepped over to the comm. "Captain Archer to Dr. Phlox," I said quietly.

"Yes, Captain?" the doctor's cheerful voice came back.

I looked at Callie, who was almost dead on her feet. "Can you keep an eye on Commander Tucker for a few hours so that the counselor can get some rest?"

"Certainly. I'm on my way now."

I turned to Callie. "Come on." I took her by the arm and pulled her out of Trip's quarters.

"But—" She sputtered, protesting. Once we were in the corridor, however, she gave up the fight and leaned back against the bulkhead. "I probably could use a couple hours sleep," she conceded, rubbing her eyes.

"You're exhausted." I rested my hands on her upper arms. "I'm glad that you're so devoted to your job and are taking such good care of my chief engineer, but you need to look after yourself, too." A slight smile tugged at the corners of my lips. "Come with me."

Callie arched a brow and cast a longing look at her quarters. I had no doubt that ideas of a hot shower and her bed were tumbling through her mind. But I knew that she had other needs that she should see to first. Taking her by the hand, I led her down the corridor to my own quarters. I quickly typed in my override code and the door slid open, and a spicy aroma met us both.

Deeply she inhaled. "My god," she murmured, eyes glazing over. "Is that—?"

"Pizza," I replied. I moved over to the warmer and lifted the cover, revealing a pepperoni pie that I'd had sent down earlier. "I put a bug in Chef's ear that you might need some comfort food, and I remembered that this is your favorite."

She stared for a long moment, and I could practically see her salivating. "Jonathan Archer," she said slowly. "I could kiss you right now." Greedily, she pushed past me and practically attacked the pizza, picking up a slice and biting into it with obvious delight. I found myself wondering when she'd last eaten.

A tingle swept over me when she mentioned kissing me, but I ignored it. "It gets better," I said to her. I reached into the small fridge I keep in my room and pulled out two cold, amber bottles. I opened both and passed one to her.

A wide grin spread over her lips. "Pizza and beer." She laughed as she sat down on the sofa. "Most men would try to charm a lady with wine and roses. But you? A pepperoni pie and a cold one."

"You were always more the pizza and beer type than the wine and roses type," I picked up my own slice and took a seat across from her on the edge of my bed. "It's been a long few days, and I wasn't really sure when you'd last eaten." I gave her a pseudo-stern glare. "Take better care of yourself. That's an order."

"Yeah, yeah." She rolled her eyes and dragged her fingers through her hair. "I'll sleep and eat when this is all over. Trip—"

"—Is sound asleep and will be fine for a few hours. Look, we've spent all day talking about Trip. Let's talk about you for a minute."

"Jon." She sighed tiredly.

"No, quiet a minute," I interrupted her. "Let me speak." I paused for a moment, gathering my thoughts as I took a bite. "I owe you an apology."

Callie brought her bottle to her lips and took a long, deep drink. "Whatever for?" She rubbed her eyes. "You're not the one who's been crying on me for two days."

I took a deep breath. "You tried to tell me how difficult taking this post would be on you, and I blew you off. I see it now." I hesitated. "The emotional toll."

Her dark eyes darted away and she took a sudden, intense interest in her pizza. "I'm fine," she said flatly.

I knelt in front of her and took her hand in mine. "Callie…"

She set the crust of her slice aside. "I'm worn out. I'm raw. And I—"

"I know." I tucked a lock of hair behind her ear.

Callie closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "I just need to get through the next few days."

I looked down for several moments, contemplating the situation. Standing, I went to the cabinet and pulled out another bottle of liquor.

Callie raised a brow. "Bourbon?" she asked. "It's been that kind of day?"

"You tell me." I poured us both a glass. "We're both exhausted and emotionally wrung out. I figured a little liquid fortification couldn't hurt."

She accepted the glass and took a swig. "I can't stand seeing him like this." She rubbed her eyes with the heel of her hand.

"I can't either." I took a drink from my own glass. "I love Trip too. Like I said to him, he's like a younger brother to me." I swirled the liquid in my glass and stared into. "He'll get through this. Trip is tough."

She gave me a pointed look. "And he has good friends to help him."

"And he has good friends to help him." I repeated, nodding.

We fell silent, each of us lost in our own thoughts. She'd leaned her head back against the chair, her lashes closed over her dark eyes. Another image flashed through my mind: Callie in a similar pose but entirely different location. Sleeping peacefully, her hair tousled and cheeks flushed as the early morning sun of Aruba touched her bare skin.

Damn.

I turned away. "Callie," I began hoarsely, "if you wanted to…stay. I mean, that would be okay." I coughed and rubbed the back of my neck. "I wouldn't mind. In fact I'd kind of enjoy—"

The offer died on my lips as I turned back around. She was limp, her breathing deep and even. I smiled and shook my head. The stress and strain of the past few days had caught up with her, and Callie had fallen fast asleep on my sofa.

So much for romantic interludes.

I debated whether or not I should wake her and send her back to her quarters, but she looked so peaceful, I didn't have the heart. I scooped her up instead.

"Jonathan," she murmured drowsily. She snuggled closer and drifted back off.

I tried not to grin as I deposited her on my bed and dropped a spare blanket over her shoulders. For a long time, I watched her, a pang of longing slicing through me. Finally I dragged my hand through my hair, sighed, and went to the bathroom.

One long, cold shower later I returned, now clad in sweatpants and a t-shirt. Crawling into the bed next to Callie crossed my mind, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. Instead, I grabbed a pillow and a blanket, and stretched out on the couch.

"Sleeping on the couch and I don't even have my dog to keep me company," I muttered to myself.


	15. Chapter 14

**Chapter Fourteen**

_Callie_

I was awakened by a long-forgotten scent. With a blissful sigh, I snuggled deeper into the bed, buried my face into the pillow and savored the familiar blend of soap, aftershave, and Jon. In my sleepy state, a dozen unbidden memories played through my mind and a smile tugged at my lips.

My eyes snapped open and I bolted upright. Heat rushed to my cheeks as I glanced sharply around the room. I was in Jon's room—his bed—and I had no recollection of how I'd gotten there. I was relieved to find I was fully dressed and on top of the bedspread. Nothing had happened, apparently.

At least I hoped so.

Jon was nowhere to be seen; how late was it? I blushed when I thought about trying to sneak out of the captain's quarters only to be caught by some crewman in the corridors. I dared to peer at the chronometer next to the bed. It was only seven. I flopped back against the pillows with a sigh of relief.

The bathroom door slid open and Jon, dressed for the day in his uniform, stepped into the room. "Morning," he greeted me with a smile.

I pushed myself back up and offered a hesitant smile of my own. "Hey," I replied, shy. "I—" I cut myself off and tried again. "How did I get…here?"

"You fell asleep on the couch." Jon sat down on the edge of the bed. "I didn't have the heart to wake you, so I moved you over here."

"Where did you sleep?" I eyed him, afraid of his answer.

"On the couch," he assured me with a small laugh.

"So you and I didn't…I mean, we didn't…you know."

"We only had one beer and one glass of bourbon each," Jon retorted. "We weren't _that _drunk." He dropped his gaze and studied the floor. "Would it have been so bad if we had?"

I dragged a hand through my sleep-tousled hair. "I don't know." I shrugged. "On one hand it would have been fantastic." I indulged myself with a mental trip down memory lane and my cheeks flushed. Catching Jon's raised brow and smirk, I snapped myself back to the present. "Amazing, even. But, Jon…" I trailed off and dropped my chin into my arm. "You're the captain. I'm the counselor. We have history. We're coming out of a crisis. There are ten thousand reasons why it would have been a bad idea."

He exhaled as he stared at the floor. "I know you're right…" He trailed off, eyes lifting to meet mine. The space between us seemed to spark with electricity, and I couldn't decide if I wanted to run away or into his arms.

I bit my lower lip and took a deep breath. "Jon—"

He silenced me by capturing my lips with his. A soft moan caught in my throat as he pulled me against him. Heat and longing tumbled inside of me. Warning bells rang in the back of my mind, but I shoved them aside. For just one minute, I wanted to enjoy this and savor the familiar taste of his lips on mine. I slid my hands over the firm planes of his muscular chest and tangled in his hair as he rested his palms on the small of my back. My heart thudded in my ears and tingling bolts danced through my limbs.

I broke the kiss. I rested my forehead against his, struggling against my baser desires. "Jon," I managed. "I— We can't." I took a few calming breaths as I pulled back.

He rested his forehead against mine, struggling to catch his breath. "Callie—"

"Jon, do you even know how you feel about me?" I asked quietly.

He stood and began pacing. "I wish I could give you this big, romantic declaration but the truth is…" He trailed off and shrugged. "I'm not sure. I've never really taken the time to examine it. I didn't want to jeopardize this project—for Trip's sake, for your work, and for the potential it has for _Enterprise_ and for Starfleet. "But there _is_ something between us, Callie." He paused and reached towards me, cupping my cheek. "I'd like to have the chance to figure out what it is."

That touch, so soft, warm and familiar nearly did me in. I resisted the urge to lean into it, and instead inhaled and steeled my resolve. "And what happens in six months if Gardner decides this project is a failure and orders my return to Starfleet? What then?"

Jon hand dropped, disappointment on his face.

"There is nothing in this universe that I would like more," I said, leaning forward. That was the truth. The taste of him still lingered on my lips and longing sliced through me.

In the same breath a memory pushed through my mind. Of Jon, years ago, telling me that we were both career-minded. That if he was offered the post on the _Enterprise_, our relationship would never survive. That it was better if we just parted at friends. I vividly remembered agreeing with him out loud even as my heart protested. I closed my eyes and swallowed hard.

"I just can't put myself in that position again. Especially if you can't risk exploring your own feelings." I stood. "Besides, this is the worst possible timing. You need to focus on your crew and your ship, and I need to focus on Trip."

He studied me for a moment as he tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear. "I know you're right…" He shook his head, unspoken thoughts hanging in the air.

A small smile pulled at my lips. "Sometimes doing the right thing isn't the easy thing." A voice in my head told me I should leave. But I was rooted in place, my eyes fixed on his. My breath caught. "I should go," I whispered.

Jon cleared his throat. "Yeah. Trip."

Neither of us moved. Finally I turned to Jon, stood on my tiptoes and kissed him. "Have a good day."

It took every ounce of self-control I possessed to walk out that door.

* * *

><p><em>Trip<em>

It took a few days, but I started to feel like things were beginning to return to normal. After I made my peace with the captain, I decided the next person should be Malcolm. And then Phlox. Hoshi, then Travis. One by one, they each came by at my request and we talked things over. They handled me with kid gloves, so to speak, but soon accepted that I wasn't going to break. I was long past that point. The months of emotional turmoil and stress had left me exhausted and shattered. I needed my friends to help me pick myself up and put the pieces back together.

Each one of them made their own efforts to spend time with me and try to cheer me up. Hoshi brought me treats from Chef and played game after game of Go–and kicked my tail every time. Malcolm brought a deck of cards and we played hours of poker while we talked about absolutely nothing. Phlox and Travis set up movies in my room a couple of evenings. Jon pulled up a water polo match. Callie was content to just sit and talk, reminiscing over old days. It was nice. Comfortable. Soothing. There were no demands placed on me. No expectations. And most importantly, no questions. With each visit and every quiet conversation, I was reassured that they were going to be there for me despite the awful things I had thought and said about them.

At first, that made me feel guilty. I didn't deserve their forgiveness and acceptance. But damned if they weren't persistent. The awkwardness that hung between us slipped away over time and I was able to relax with them. I was startled to realize it was the first time I'd felt truly comfortable in a long time.

Still, I didn't leave the safety of my cabin. I wasn't ready to face the rest of the crew. Phlox passed on the good news that Rostov had come to, and I knew I should go see him. I found ten unimportant excuses to stay in my room. I had to admit to myself what I was really hiding from.

T'Pol.

She hadn't come to see me and I didn't call for her. Had she heard what I said in the shuttlebay? Was that why she'd stayed away? Not that I could blame her as I was avoiding her, too.

I couldn't do it forever. I was never going to be able to put all this behind me until she and I had it out. I puttered around my quarters for a good hour until occurred to me I was acting like an idiot teenage boy trying to find the balls to call the prettiest girl in school, I took a deep breath and pressed the comm button.

"Tucker to T'Pol."

There was a pause, and her hesitance reached me through our bond. I pictured her hand hovering over the panel as she debated whether or not to answer me. I couldn't blame her. I'd been an ass.

"Go ahead."

I blew out a breath. "When you have a minute, can I speak with you?"

"Give me thirty minutes," she responded after what felt like an eternity.

"See you then."

Thirty minutes. What the hell was I going to do with myself for half an hour?

I paced. I puttered. Three times I talked myself out of calling the whole thing off. Twice I almost called Callie to come and mediate as she had with Jon, but I quickly convinced myself that I should leave Callie be and handle this on my own. Because, dammit, I was a grown man and could take care of my own love life.

It was the longest half hour of my life. When the door chimed, I wasn't sure if I was relieved or terrified. "Come in," I called, part of me hoping the captain decided to drop by.

When T'Pol stepped through the door, I suppressed an involuntary jolt of happiness. It was my own fault, but I'd missed her. I didn't speak, but stood, taking in the sight of her. For a hot minute, I thought about throwing myself to my knees and begging her to try again.

But it would never work, and I knew it.

"Hey," I said by way of greeting.

She was uncomfortable, looking anywhere but at me. "Commander."

We were on formal terms again. So be it. I'd brought it on myself, after all. I planted my hands on my hips and stared at the floor. "Look, T'Pol, I know I've been a shit the last few weeks—"

"An understatement."

I shot her a dark look. "Well you didn't have to agree."

For the first time she met my gaze. She was outwardly cool and detached, but I knew better. I physically felt the hurt that glimmered below the surface of her gaze.

"It's not in a Vulcan's nature to lie, Commander."

I rolled my eyes. "As I was saying, I know I've been a pain in the ass. And I'm sorry for not asking for you sooner. I just…" I trailed off, running my hand through my hair. "I needed to get my head on straight. Think things through and sort them out in my mind."

Her expression impassive never wavered, but waves of compassion and concern began to interlace with the hurt. "I trust you're feeling better?"

"Mostly." I sat down on the edge of my bed and gestured for her to take a seat at my desk. She lowered herself into the chair and folded her hands in her lap. I paused to gather my thoughts. "I've had time to face almost all of my ghosts and demons over the last few days, except one." I met her gaze. "You."

Her attention dropped to her hands. "We have had an unpredictable relationship," she acknowledged. "Both as officers and as…" She hesitated. "Friends."

"So we're down to just friends, are we?" I shot her a pointed look.

She returned it with an annoyed glare. "Lovers, then."

"Finally she says it." I winced, my tone more biting than I meant. I stared at the floor. "I'm gonna lay it all out," I said. "Bottlin' things up is what got me into trouble in the first place—according to Callie and Phlox, anyway. Apparently I gotta be more open about my thoughts and…_feelings_."

"If you believe it necessary, then proceed."

I couldn't read her tone. It could have been sarcastic, or it could have been supportive. A smart man probably would have taken a moment to figure out which it was before he jumped headlong into a touchy conversation. I wasn't feeling that smart, I guess.. "I felt like I was pulled back and forth so many times, I didn't know which way was up. One minute you threw yourself at me, and the next minute you were comparing me to a lab rat.

"Trip—"

I ignored her. "I was kinda hopeful there at the end of the Xindi attacks. It seemed like we were finding even footing. Hell, I was thrilled when you took me home to meet your mama." My voice rose as I let months of hurt and frustration bubble to the surface. "And then you turned around and married someone else. Seriously? Do you have any idea just how much of a kick to the gut it was to stand there and watch your wedding?"

"Trip—"

"T'Pol, even your mother knew how I felt about you, so I know you did. Please explain to me how in hell you could stand there and put me through that, and be so damn calm about it." I was on a roll, and it felt good to get some of this off of my chest. I only had a smidge of remorse when she flinched. "You had me so twisted up in knots that I left everyone and everything I loved and went to the Columbia just to get away from you. And damned if it didn't work. Even half a galaxy away we still had that psychic bond to deal with."

"Trip—!"

Her tone was more insistent, but I kept going. "And then there was Elizabeth." My tone dropped, and I swallowed hard. I ran a hand over my face. "I wanted her so much. I was startin' to think about a little house in San Francisco and the three of us. And then—" I closed my eyes and lost the struggle to stop the tears that slipped down my cheek. "And then she was gone," I managed, hoarsely. "And it seemed like you were, too. T'Pol, I needed you."

Silence was like a heavy blanket over the room. T'Pol sat, her hands folded, and stared at a spot on my floor for what felt like hours. When she spoke, her voice was so soft that I had to strain to hear her. "I couldn't bear your grief and my own."

I softened. "T'Pol—"

"There is something I need to tell you." " She paused, and I wished I knew what was going on in her head. T'Pol blew out a slow breath. "When we were in the Expanse and encountered the _Seleya_, I experienced a reaction that I couldn't have anticipated."

"I remember. You were…well… You weren't yourself."

"To say the least," she agreed. "I discovered that I…enjoyed the emotions I experienced. I began to experiment with trellium D to determine how different levels of exposure would affect Vulcan physiology. Eventually I developed a way to inject liquefied trellium directly into my bloodstream."

My eyes widened. "You did what?"

T'Pol made a good attempt at appearing calm, but guilt was apparent in her eyes. "The prolonged use of the trellium damaged some of my neural pathways, which left me more susceptible to emotions. I began experiencing sensations that I hadn't explored before, and took actions that I never would have otherwise."

I processed this. "Are you sayin' that you slept with me because you were high?"

She raised a brow. "Not precisely"

"Then what, exactly?"

"Much like the beings we recently encountered, my exposure didn't create anything that wasn't already there. It merely lowered my inhibitions so that I acted on my impulses rather than suppressing them as I ordinarily would." She rose and crossed over to the window, staring out at the stars as she spoke. "My instincts were in constant conflict with my upbringing." Her internal struggle washed against me through our bond in pulses. "For me, Vulcan was more than just my heritage–it was who I am. When you and I visited my home, it was clear that I no longer fit in with my own people. I've become more expressive and emotional. More resistant to tradition and more set on creating my own path in life." She paused and gazed at me over her shoulder. "I've become almost…human."

This was a lot to absorb. "Tell me you aren't injecting yourself with that stuff anymore."

"No," she assured me. "I worked with Phlox to remove all traces of the trellium from my system. But by that time the damage had already been done." Slowly T'Pol began to pace, a habit she picked up from the captain over the years. "When we encountered the alternate _Enterprise_ in the Expanse, I had an opportunity to discuss the situation with my counterpart. She told me that in time I would learn to coexist with my emotions. And that you would be an outlet for those feelings if I would trust you."

I felt like I'd been punched in the gut. I stared at her in disbelief. A good bit of me was thrilled that her older self had thought so much of me, and I let myself have a moment to mourn the fact that we hadn't had more time to figure things out before all hell broke loose with Elizabeth. I stood and stepped closer to her. "Do you trust me?"

T'Pol lifted her gaze to meet mine, unwavering. "Implicitly." Instinctively she stepped back. Expressing your emotions comes as naturally to you as breathing. I am still learning to accept with my own responses, and with this change in to my identity. If I'm no longer purely Vulcan, then what am I?" She paused, her eyes searching mine. "I'm not attempting to excuse my erratic behavior, however, I believe it is imperative that you have all the facts."

I blew out a breath as I struggled to wrap my mind around all that she said. I wondered if things would have turned out differently if I'd known all of this months ago. I silently kicked myself for not taking the time to talk to T'Pol's older counterpart myself. Maybe this whole mess could have been avoided. "First of all, I need to say something just to get it off my chest."

"Go ahead."

I inhaled, and then exploded. "What the unholy hell were you thinkin' T'Pol, injecting yourself with that stuff? You could have killed yourself!" I shot her a dark look. "Does the captain know anything about this?"

She shook her head. "Only Phlox and now you are aware."

"I won't tell him so long as you promise me that you'll never do something stupid like that again," I shot back, furiously. "If anything had happened to you—"

"She raised her brow, as if to beckon me to finish the thought."

"I don't know how I could have stood it." I dragged my hand through my hair. "God, T'Pol…"

Silently, she reached out and took my hand in hers. The image of her wrapped in her Vulcan robes and grief, clinging to her mother's IDIC flashed surfaced from my memory. I hesitated, and then folded her against me. "When we lost Elizabeth," she said, her voice hardly above a whisper, "it was the most intense sensation I had ever experienced. It was as if my heart had been removed and buried with her. It was illogical. I hadn't given birth to her. And still—"

"She was part of us," I replied, my heart wrenching at the memory of the small, still body. "You don't have to explain yourself to me. Believe me, I get it."

We stood like that, our grief flooding over one another for a long time. I savored the feel of her warm body against mine, my chest constricted with longing. I sighed and held her tighter.

"Trip—" she began, but I cut her off.

"I love you, T'Pol." My voice was hoarse as I rested my forehead against hers. "And I am always gonna love you. But right now, you and I both have a ton of baggage that we need to work through if we're ever going to have a prayer of a solid relationship."

Already she was pulling away. "A goodbye, then?"

"No." I shook my head as I released her. "This is me sayin' that we need to get our heads on straight and come to terms with all we've been through. Separately." I touched her cheek. "I don't think you and I are done–not by a long shot. But we both have a lot of work to do." I swallowed, forcing down a lump of emotion welling up in my throat. "I've made progress over the last few days, but I have a ways to go. And so do you."

T'Pol squeezed my hand. "That is…logical."

I returned the pressure. "But not easy." I heaved a heavy sigh and reluctantly released her hand. "I'll always be here for you."

"And I you." She stretched up and kissed my cheek, and for a split second I flashed back to Vulcan. In that moment, I wasn't on the _Enterprise_. I was in the hot, arid, desert air and watching her walk away.

And then I was back in my quarters. Just like that day on her homeworld, my heart split in two as I watched her reluctantly walk away.

* * *

><p><em>Malcolm<em>

As ship's armory officer, I knew the whereabouts of nearly everyone on the ship at all times. I tried very hard not to abuse the power granted to me. After all, it was more of a matter of safety than micro management. Sometimes, however, it came in very handy. I was aware when Commander T'Pol made her visit to Trip that night, just as I was aware when she left. I wasn't privy to their conversation, but I could speculate. Once T'Pol was in her own quarters, I gave Trip precisely thirty minutes to collect himself before I rang the bell to his cabin.

His blood-shot eyes gave me a surprised once over when he answered the door. "Malcolm," he greeted. "Look, man, I'm really not in the mood for card games tonight."

"I didn't expect you would be." I jerked my head towards the corridor. "Come with me."

"I really don't feel like—"

"Just come."

Trip sighed and ran a hand over his face. He stared at me as if trying to decide if I would change my mind if he resisted strong enough. Finally his shoulders slumped. "Alright, alright. Let's go."

I led him straight to the mess hall, empty at this late hour. He cast furtive glances about, as if anticipating someone in the shadowed corners. He relaxed visibly when he spotted a bottle and small glasses waiting for us on a nearby table. "Tequila? Malcolm, you shouldn't have."

I pulled out a chair and lowered myself into it. "I saw that you had a visitor earlier. I thought you might need some liquid fortification afterwards." I filled a shot and slid it across the table to him as he sat.

Silently he stared into the pale liquid. "Thanks." Trip picked up the glass, tipped it in my direction, and then drained it in one draft. With a flourish, he slapped it back on the table. "It's over. Completely and totally done."

I refilled his glass and topped off my own. "She doesn't know what she's losing," I said consolingly.

"I broke it off with her."

I paused with my glass at my lips. "Then respectfully, sir, you're an idiot."

He glared at me. "I should make you scrub intake manifolds for a week for that."

"You'd have to be on duty for that." I watched as he took a healthy sip of his tequila. "You have been mooning over the woman for over a year. You even left the ship because of her. Why on earth would you end things?"

Trip sighed and dragged a hand over his face. "Wrong timin'." He shrugged. "We both have more baggage than Phlox goin' on extended shore leave. If I'm gonna have a successful relationship with anyone—especially T'Pol—I need to sort that out first."

"I suppose that was wise of you."

"Maybe," he acknowledged. "But not easy." He poured himself another shot, and then glanced at me. "How'd you know she was in my cabin, anyway?"

A pleasant alcoholic fog had begun to settle over my brain. I flashed him a grin. "I am fully aware of everyone's comings and goings on board this ship."

His hand stilled halfway to his mouth as he stared at me. "Mal, man… That's kind of creepy."

"Well it's not as if I'm spying on you in the privy," I said defensively. "It's more like…" I paused as I took another shot of the tequila. "In British literature, there is a book from the twentieth century that references a magical map that reveals the location of every single person inside of the castle grounds it referenced."

Trip laughed and choked on the mouthful of liquid he'd just swallowed. "So you're a wizard armory officer now?"

"Oh shut it, Commander."

Once again I refilled both of our empty glasses. We sat in companionable quiet for a long time, neither of us compelled to speak. Out of the corner of my eye, I studied Trip. The exhausted, haggard man beside me was a far cry from the jovial engineer who had left Earth years ago. He had aged and matured. I supposed we both had.

"I've been sort of jealous of you, you know."

Surprise registered on Trip's face. "Of me and T'Pol? I mean, I know you thought she had a nice 'bum,' but I didn't realize—"

"Not like that," I interrupted. I paused to gather my thoughts. "When we met up with the future _Enterprise_ in the Expanse, I discovered that I had no one. I lived out my days as a bachelor." I snorted and lifted my glass. "I imagined myself as this crusty old codger that no woman would dare to associate herself with. Perhaps that's what will happen in this reality."

His brow furrowed. "That's a bit dramatic, don't you think?"

"Is it?" I asked. "I don't exactly see women lining up. Do you?"

"Malcolm." Trip laughed. "You're young, and have plenty of time. You'll meet someone." He threw back a shot. "Don't be so damned pessimistic."

"Easy for you to say," I retorted defensively. "Since we embarked on this journey five years ago, you have been involved with an alien princess—"

"That was a one-night stand."

"—Impregnated by a foreign species almost before we were out of dry dock—"

"I was a perfect gentleman!"

"—Found yourself involved with an innocent young Kantare—"

Trip scowled. "We only ever kissed."

I arched a brow. "Amanda Cole?"

"Some flirtin' and one or two kisses."

"And the first officer of this ship."

He reached for the bottle. "And we see where that landed me." Trip shook his head as he refilled both of our glasses. "Malcolm, both of us have piss-poor luck when it comes to women."

"Then you can join me in my crusty bachelorhood." I took a generous sip of the tequila.

Trip toasted me with his glass before downing a swallow. "When we're old and crusty, we can have rooms next to each other in the retirement home. And we can both harass the nurses."

I lifted my shot. "To crusty old bachelors."

"To crusty old bachelors."

"What the hell are you two doing?"

We both looked up to find our drunken solitude had been intruded upon by our ship's counselor and communications officer. Hoshi and Callie stood near the door, eyeing the pair of us with bemused smiles.

"We are engaging in an age-old activity that any man will enter into with a friend while going through a difficult time." I glanced at Trip.

"Gettin' shitfaced," he added, his words beginning to slur.

Hoshi strode over, picked up the bottle and examined it. "Tequila. It must have been a bad night."

"You two sit down and join us." Trip gestured to the chairs opposite us. "I'll buy you a drink."

"_Buy_ us one?" Callie chuckled.

He nodded. "Sure. Hey bartender!" He grinned at me. "Send those two ladies a round on me."

I retrieved two empty glasses and set them on the table. "The drunken sod from engineering would like to buy the two of you a drink."

The ladies glanced at one another, a silent conversation passing between them in seconds. "Why the hell not?" Callie took one of the empty chairs. "It's been a long day."

"Seeing several patients?" I asked as I reached for her glass to fill it.

"It's tapered off a bit since we dealt with the stowaways we had." She took a tentative sniff of her drink. "But I have a ton of stuff to catch up on." She cast a quick look in Trip's direction. "Apparently it's a lot of paperwork when your chief engineer has a breakdown."

The tequila in Trip's hand paused at his lips. "How much is it if the cap'n loses it?"

"Much, much more."

He grinned impertinently. "There you go. I saved you a bunch of work just by not being the cap'n." Sighing, Trip dragged a hand over his face. "It's been a helluva week. It'll be good to go back on duty tomorrow."

"Feeling better?" asked Hoshi.

"Mostly. I don't think I'll ever get back to where I was before. But to tell you the truth, I'm not sure I want to." Trip got up from the table, retrieved a glass of water from the replicator across the room, and sat back down. "Despite the torture it's been, I've learned a few things about myself." He dragged a hand through his hair. "I guess we all gotta grow up sometime."

"What were you two saying about crusty old bachelors?" Callie reached for the rapidly depleting bottle in the center of the table.

"Trip and I were resigning ourselves to a lifetime of bachelorhood." I sighed dismally into my glass.

"It's not that bad." Hoshi took a hesitant drink. "You're both young and handsome." Out of the corner of her eye, she watched me. "Maybe you're just not looking in the right places."

"It's not like we have a lot of options," Trip put in. "There are only so many people on this ship."

"And we've explored most of them."

Hoshi made a non-committal sound in her throat and downed the rest of her tequila in one gulp.

Callie watched her and bit back a smile. "For what it's worth, gentlemen, I'm right there with you."

We both slowly turned to her.

"You?" Trip snorted. "Right."

"Me," she retorted. "I'll spend the rest of my days happily wed to my career, much to my mother's dismay."

Confusion passed over the commander's face. "But I thought…" He trailed off. "You and—" He glanced quickly at Hoshi and me and snapped his mouth shut.

"You do know I was in the decontamination room when you blurted out that the counselor shares a sordid past with the captain, don't you, Commander?" I asked with an air of nonchalance.

A rush of air passed my legs as Callie kicked him under the table. "Big mouth."

Hoshi lifted a brow and leaned forward. "I wasn't in the decon chamber. Do tell."

Callie waved a hand dismissively. "It was a long time ago, and its long over."

Trip stared at her, and I could see the wheels spinning in his mind. He chuckled. "Whatever you say, darlin'." He leaned back in his chair and downed another shot. "Tell you what, Callie: if you and I haven't found anyone by the time we're, say, forty, then let's get hitched."

She choked on a mouthful. "Now I know you're drunk," she managed to sputter.

Hoshi and I exchanged dubious looks.

"I'm serious." He was insistent. "We've known each other since we were practically in diapers. We get along fine. We could make it work."

As she wiped tequila from her shirt front, Callie shook her head and chuckled. "Okay, Trip, whatever. If you haven't met anyone by your fortieth birthday, I'll marry you."

Her tone made it clear that she was simply placating a drunken friend. I had my doubts as to just how intoxicated Trip truly was. He reached for the bottle on the table and cast me a self-satisfied grin. "Then it's a deal."

With his pleased grin, I was certain of two things. First, Trip was up to something.

Second, for the first time in a very long time, I was sure Trip Tucker was going to be just fine.


	16. Chapter 15

**Chapter Fifteen**

_Trip_

A bowl of pretzels and two glasses of beer sat on the table in front of Jon and me. Porthos snoozed contentedly on the floor. My feet were propped up on a chair, the buttons on my uniform loosened after a long day, and I had a pair of sunglasses perched on the bridge of my nose. Jon had gone so far as to change into a comfortable sweatshirt and jeans. On the vid screen opposite the table, the Packers were giving the 49ers a run for their money.

It had been so long since we'd done this that I found myself trying to remember the last time. As best as I could remember, it was before the Expanse. It was nice—soothing even—to sit and listen to Jon complain about the referees. I had almost forgotten about this small slice of normalcy.

Jon tore his attention away from the screen and popped a pretzel into his mouth as he glanced at me. "What's with the sunglasses?"

I gave him a self-depreciating grin. "Malcolm poured a little too much tequila down my gullet last night."

Jon shot me a skeptical look. "He had to pour it down you?"

"He _offered_." I retrieved a pretzel of my own from the bowl. "It would have been poor manners to refuse."

"And you are ever the southern gentleman."

"My mama would never allow otherwise."

Before I could expound further on last night's bender, a flag was thrown against the offense during the 49ers' fourth down—costing them fifteen yards in penalties. Both Jon and I had a few choice—and rather impolite—words for the players before we could return to the topic at hand.

"Malcolm was trying to help out after a difficult conversation I had with T'Pol." I gave him the cliff notes version, skimming over the more painful details. "Callie and Hoshi joined us after we'd had a few, and I'm pretty sure all four of us ended up with a nasty hangover."

I wasn't sure, but I thought I saw him hesitate as he reached for his beer when I mentioned Callie. "I'm sure you all had a great time. It's good for you to relax."

"Yeah, we had fun. Ended up playing some poker." I fell silent, giving Jon a chance to forget I'd brought up Callie. When he picked up his beer to take a swig, I dropped the grenade I'd been holding. "And then Callie and I got engaged."

He froze. "…You did what?"

I nodded and took a casual sip from my own glass. "Yeah, we decided that if we haven't found anyone else by the time we're forty, we're gonna get married."

Jon was quiet for so long that for a second I thought maybe I'd taken the whole thing just a little too far. "Well I hope you're happy together," he finally said, stiffly.

"I'm sure we will be."

We watched the game in silence for four more plays. I heard a small bark and found that Porthos was gazing up at me hopefully. I chuckled and tossed him a pretzel. "So how long are you going to sit there and pretend it doesn't bother you?" I asked.

His brow furrowed stubbornly, and his eyes remained focused on the screen. "It doesn't."

"Bullshit."

He shot me a dirty look and sipped his beer. "Trip, drop it."

I wasn't giving up so easily. "Cap'n, I've watched the two of you sneaking moony looks at each other for weeks. Can you honestly sit there and tell me it wouldn't bother you if someone else stole her away?"

"In order for someone to 'steal her away' there'd have to be something between us." Jon placed the glass back on the table and fiddled with it. "It was over between us a long time ago."

"Cap'n, maybe if you talk to her—"

"I tried, Trip." He sighed, resigned to the situation. "And she's not interested. For a while I thought, maybe..." Jon dragged a hand over his face. "It must have been the entities on the ship. Once they were gone, she pulled away."

I mulled that over as I sipped my beer. "As everyone has been so fond of tellin' me for the last week, those beings didn't create anything that wasn't already there. They didn't make either of you feel anythin'. They just brought it out for air."

He blew out a slow breath. "She's made it clear she's not interested in reliving the past."

"And you're going to just let it go?"

Jon scowled. "Do you have a better idea?"

"If it were me in your shoes, I sure as hell wouldn't be sittin' here with me." Casually I tossed a pretzel into the air and caught it in my mouth. "I'd be down the hall, fightin' for the girl."

"I thought you _wanted_ to watch this game."

I grinned. "I never said I didn't."

His growing exasperation amused me. "Why do you suddenly care about my love life?"

"Although I've been distracted for the last few weeks, I'm not blind. I've seen the long, googly-eyed looks you two have been givin' each other."

"My eyes never googled," he retorted.

I hooted. "Like hell they didn't! And she was just as bad." I shook my head and reached for my beer. "The truth is, I'm not sure why it bothers me so much. Maybe—" I cut myself off and thought about it. "Maybe after the mess I've made of my love life I want someone to have a happy endin'." I shrugged. "What I do know is that if you sit there and let her slip away again, then you're an idiot."

Jon lifted his glass to his lips. "You do know you're speaking to a superior officer, right?"

I snorted. "I'm not talkin' to you as Commander Tucker to Cap'n Archer. I'm talkin' to you as Trip to Jon."

He fell silent, turning back to the game. Apparently that was the end of the conversation. I gave Porthos a shrug and settled back to enjoy the rest of the game—or at least as much of it as I could, considering how the Niners were playing.

The two of us became engrossed in the game once again. The Packers scored a touchdown, and to add insult to injury topped it with a two point conversion. "Aw, dammit," I muttered as Jon groaned. "They'll never come back from that!"

"Hypothetically speaking…" Jon spoke up once the action settled. "If I did want to relive the past, so to speak, what would be the best way to go about it?"

I furrowed my brow in confusion until I realized he had gone back to the topic of Callie. Slowly, I grinned.

_About damned time…_

* * *

><p><em>Jon<em>

I didn't go to Callie immediately. I paced the ship, wandering from corridor to corridor as I tried to come up with the perfect thing to say. I rehearsed, discarded, and tried again. Nothing sounded quite right, and I was driving myself crazy trying to make it that way. I supposed my real fear was not that I would say the wrong thing, but that it wouldn't matter what I said. Callie was determined once she made up her mind. When she left my quarters a few mornings before, she had been pretty decisive.

But I had to try.

As I stood outside of her door I heard the faint strains of a piano. Callie told me once that she immersed herself music when she was working a particularly difficult case. Therapy for the therapist, she had said. Tonight it was the melancholy notes of Beethoven's _Moonlight_.

I took a deep breath, gathered my courage, and made myself press the buzzer to her room. When she called out distractedly for me to enter, I hesitated. I was taking a big risk. We had come to an understanding a few days before, but it seemed like since then our friendship had been strained. If she rejected me again, it could be pushed beyond repair. Telling myself to stop being chicken, I stepped into the room.

For several minutes, I watched her. Her fingers flew nimbly over the small piano and coaxed the tune out of the instrument. Her eyes were closed, as if savoring each note. I smiled. I wasn't even sure she was aware I was in the room.

"Can I help you with something, Captain?" she asked, clearing up my doubts.

All of the carefully rehearsed pleas flew out of my mind at once. I tugged at my collar and cleared my throat. "I, ah, was just wondering what you were up to."

She glanced at me over her shoulder. "Indulging in a little wine and self-medication." Her gaze shifted to the bottle that rested on her desk, and indecision flickered in her eyes. "Would you like a glass?"

The reluctance in her voice hurt. I thought about forgetting the whole thing and leaving, but in the back of my mind I heard Trip's voice calling me a coward. I took a seat in her desk chair and spun it around so I faced her. "I wanted to talk."

Callie blew out a heavy sigh and turned to face me. "Jon, haven't we talked enough?"

"You've talked, and I've listened." I ran my hands nervously over my thighs. "Now I'd like a chance to speak."

"Fair enough," she relented. "This time you talk and I'll listen."

"Callie…" I stopped, my gaze fixed on her face. There were so many things I wanted to say to her. It was a struggle to sift through them all and decide where I should begin. "I owe you an apology." Unconsciously, I stood and began pacing. "I made a mistake a few years ago in the way I ended things, and I hurt you more than I realized."

Her gaze dropped to her hands. "In your defense, I didn't tell you how I felt about it. I just stood back and let it happen." She bit her lip. "If I wanted to fight, I should have."

"Why didn't you?"

She shrugged. "It wouldn't have mattered if I had. You made it clear you were set on being the captain of this ship." Finally, she looked up at me. "For whatever its worth, I was so proud of you the day Starfleet named you as _Enterprise_'s skipper."

I let out a short, bitter laugh. "You say that I didn't give you a chance to prove that you could have handled the long-distance relationship and made the choice to end it for you." I stopped pacing and once again took the chair opposite her. "But you decided for me that I wouldn't have listened if you fought, and you let me go without a fuss."

Callie's cheeks flushed and her eyes narrowed. "It's not the same thing, Jon."

"Isn't it?"

She shot to her feet, indignant. "I'll have you know—"

I silenced her by holding up a hand. "I'm not here to point fingers and decide fault on a breakup that happened several years ago. My point was that we both made mistakes." I took her hand and gently pulled her back down into her seat. "We're both to blame. We both got hurt."

Callie cast me a dubious look. "If you were hurt, you did a damn good job of hiding it. You went off and spent your time gallivanting around the galaxy." Her expression softened. "And then disappeared, leaving the whole world to hold its breath for nine months." She blew a shaky sigh past her lips. "You saved the world, Jon, and sacrificed a part of yourself to do it. I saw you, briefly, when you came back and I wanted so much to reach out to you—even as a friend. Before I had the chance, you disappeared into the mountains for the better part of a week with Erika Hernandez."

I raised a brow. "You knew about that?"

"Starfleet is a small place. Everyone knew about that."

I sighed. "Erika was easier than you. Make no mistake, even facing her was difficult." I struggled for the right words. "When _Columbia_ left dry dock, I knew Erika was going to be facing the same situations I had on _Enterprise_. I suppose I viewed talking with her as a means of preparing her for what was to come. But you…" I trailed off. "I thought there was no way you would ever be leaving Earth. You were safe on solid ground, and you would never experience first-hand what was out there. I wanted to protect you from that."

"Millions of people died in just a matter of a few minutes, Jonathan," Callie said softly. "We had an idea of what was out there. Not one person on Earth doubted that some of it was unpleasant."

"The attack was just the tip of the iceberg." I clenched my fists as memories flashed through my mind. "I did a lot of things in the Expanse that I wasn't particularly proud of. I just didn't want you to think less of me."

"I know things were bad out there—"

"No, you don't know."

"Yes, I do. Or at least I have an idea." She crossed her arms tightly against herself. "Trip has been very candid with me over the last week. I know how bad things got, and that you faced some difficult decisions."

"Knowing it in your head is very different from experiencing just how impossible it was."

Callie's expression softened. "I don't doubt it. I wish—" She looked away. "I wish I could have been there for you."

I tenderly cupped her cheek. "You're here now."

She leaned into my touch. "Let's say we do give it another shot." She was weakening. "What happens when the brass finds out?"

Grinning, I stepped closer. "Technically you're a medical professional contracted by Starfleet and don't have an official rank, just like Phlox. It's none of their business." I brushed a stray strand of hair away from her cheek. "Are you going to keep coming up with excuses?"

"That's a technicality. You know they wouldn't be pleased." Her lips twitched with amusement, and her eyes sparkled. "One of us should try to be responsible." She sighed and rested her forehead against mine. "I don't want to get my heart broken again, Jonathan."

"I can't promise I'll never break your heart. Neither of us knows what's going to happen down the road." I hooked a finger under her chin and lifted it so she would look at me. "And I can't promise to always put you first. I'm the captain; I have responsibilities."

"Your ship and crew come first," she acknowledged. "I would expect nothing less."

"What I can promise is to do my best." Sensing that her resolve was nearly gone, I slipped an arm around her waist and pulled her against me. "That's all I can do."

Callie fell silent for a long time and studied me. She was arguing with herself. It was visible in her face. Slowly, she raised a brow. "Porthos sleeps in his own bed."

Triumph rippled through me when she relaxed in my arms. I let out a soft chuckle. "You're going to have to take that up with him." Before she could offer any further arguments or excuses, I dipped my head and caught mouth with mine.

Her lips were hungry, years of pent-up frustration and longing pouring into that one kiss. I crushed her against me, my own desire rushing like hot lava through my veins. I'd wanted this, dreamed of it. And now that I had it, I would do anything in my power to hold onto it and never let go. We came up for air, and Callie gazed up at me with heat and passion.

"Alright, Captain," she said softly. "I surrender."


	17. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

_Trip_

At first the Engineering crew walked on eggshells around me, as if waiting for my next gasket to blow. Gradually they relaxed, reassured that the old Commander Tucker was back. The occasional prank began to pop up again, along with the usual jokes and insults. I realized then just how deep an impact my mood had on the entire functioning of the ship.

It was nice to be needed.

Some things would never go back to the way they had been before, though. We left dry-dock full of starry-eyed naivety, ready to explore the wonders of the galaxy. Every alien species was a friend we hadn't made yet, it seemed. Until the Xindi attacked Earth. Until we entered the murky haze of the Expanse where moral compasses no longer pointed due North. Until a little baby girl was created as an effigy for all the reasons our home-grown terrorists thought we should never have sought the stars in the first place.

Our innocence was gone.

But then, even though we'd been through hell and back—more than once—we always returned to the little things that made us human. This last bout of alien craziness was no different. The weekly poker games resumed. Phlox even joined us once and cleaned us all out. Hoshi taught us curse words in new languages. Over drinks one night, Jon asked if we ought to resume movie nights, and I surprised myself by agreeing.

Once I felt like I had my feet solidly under me and was ready to move on, I decided it was time to face the shuttle bay. That room represented months of emotional turmoil finally coming to a head. Though I'd initially blamed the beings that invaded _Enterprise_, hours of talking things over with Callie had helped me to accept that I would have eventually broken down on my own. In a weird sort of way I was grateful to the creatures for speeding up the inevitable, even if they had nearly killed me in the process.

It was silent, still when I stepped into the room. No one had crossed the threshold since that day. I didn't know if it was because they just didn't have a reason to, or if they didn't want to face the memories. The hatch to the alien craft was still open. My tools still littered the floor. I cringed when I spotted the hyperspanner I'd tossed in anger lying near the bulkhead. I retrieved it, dropping it into one of my pockets as I remembered in vivid detail that horrible moment.

I ran my hand slowly over the cool metal of the craft. Somehow it looked less eerie and menacing now, though I supposed that was a trick of my mind. Jon had told me about the ship's former pilot and her unfortunate fate. I shuddered as I thought about how close I'd come to ending up just like her.

The difference was Andara had been a lone pilot of a single-person craft. She'd had no one to support her or pull her out of the despair created by the creatures. I wondered if she would have lived if she had been on a larger ship. I was pretty damned lucky to have the friends I had.

I resumed my leisurely pass around the ship. Lost in my thoughts, I tripped over a panel lying on the deck next to the ship and nearly fell flat on my face. Cursing, I crouched down to pick it up and nearly falling flat on my face. Crouching, I retrieved it and set about returning the emergency access panel to the ship.

Wait. Emergency access? Frowning, I glance at the circuitry revealed by the fallen panel. I squinted as I studied the labels attached to the mounts. Was that…?

"Son of a b—" I shot to my feet, cracking my head on the craft's wing. I ignored the spike of pain as I exclaimed to the empty room, "It's written in _English_."

_The End._

_**Author's Note:**__ Yes, I do have a sequel planned. There are a couple of projects I want/need to finish first, but I will be continuing this story. _


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